


Maedhros

by Scribe32oz



Series: The Modern Age [3]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-07
Updated: 2014-06-07
Packaged: 2018-02-03 17:14:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 147,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1752503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scribe32oz/pseuds/Scribe32oz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frank Miller become involved in an archaeological project called Maedhros & inadvertently stumbles into a strange new world. As Frank uncovers the secret behind Maedhros, his existence is revealed to enemies he cannot fathom.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Prologue:**

**To No One Else**

 He had fled to the very edge of Arda and still it was not far enough.

In this desolate place, where Arda still struggled to form its shape, he who was Feanor’s son, Maedhros, had found at last wisdom. However his understanding did not bring him peace but instead deepened the well of his despair. With hot winds assailing him and jets of flame escaping the earth in powerful columns of ash and liquid fire, he knew at last that his doom did not await him in Aman but rather here. It was an apt place as any for an elf of the Noldor tainted as much as he, to find his end. He no longer feared the doom of men but his heart was heavy indeed with what had led him here.

His life had been a series of choices, some good and some bad. He had chosen to leave Valinor with his father in pursuit of Morgoth but he had refused to participate in the betrayal of Fingolfin. It was a pity that his conscience did not allow him to stop the burning of ships that would have borne Fingolfin to Arda, instead of stranding him on the Grinding Ice and causing so much suffering. He had lived and breathed his father’s vengeance, allowing it to poison him as irrevocably as it had changed Feanor. His father in better days had been a craftsman, a creator of beautiful things but when he had died in Ard-Galen, Maedhros had seen a man twisted by vengeance, far removed from his earlier nobility.

Feanor’s death should have taught him the folly of vengeance but Maedhros was already assailed by another kind of fever, one as potent as the need for vengeance. Like the rest of his brothers and his father before him,Maedhros was obsessed with the possession of the Silmarils. His mind had been unable to see any other path than the one that would allow him to acquire it. He thought of the choices he made, the hand that had been sacrificed and all the Kinslaying he had been party to because of the jewels forged by his father. His existence had been bathed in blood and treachery because of the Silmarils but still he could not desist in his need to acquire it.

Even when the Valar had destroyed Morgoth in the War of Wrath, Maedhros could not escape his obsession and to his greatest shame, he convinced his brother Maglor to join him in his deceit. Maedhros wondered ifManwe’s agent, Eonwe had known what his alternative would be after he was refused the return of the jewels. Eonwe had looked upon him with a sad resignation and now Maedhros had understood that his words were ominous with meaning because Eonwe knew that it was beyond the sons of Feanor to let go of the Silmarils, that they would pursue it to their utter ruin.

Once again, Maedhros had proved his willingness to kill for the Silmarils and the poor guardians of the jewel bore the unfortunate brunt of his greed. Killing them had extinguished the last flame of nobility inside of him and yet Maedhros had barely noted its passing. All he cared about now was the satisfied knowledge that at last, the Silmarils were in the hands of its rightful owners. Eonwe’s words to him that the deeds of his family had relinquished their right to make such a claim was hardly a concern. Not so for Maglor whose apprehension remained throughout their act of treachery, despite Maedhros’ best efforts to calm his troubled spirit.

In the end, it appeared that Eonwe was correct after all.

The moment he clenched his fist around his father’s greatest creation, Maedhros felt an agony coursing through him unmatched since he was forced to sacrifice his hand during Fingon’s attempt at rescue. The burning, searing pain that gripped his body, drew from him a scream of agony. The Silmarils had no wish to be ferried about by one who had lost its favour. Maedhros had retched at the scent of his burning flesh, doubling over in pain as he soiled himself and the jewel fell out of his grasp, traces of burnt skin still clinging to its flawless facets. Maedhros was certain that his brother would undoubtedly make the same discovery when he paused long enough to handle his own jewel.

When the red haze of pain had faded from his mind, Maedhros felt as if he had been bathed in a shower of cold rain. It was a sobering realisation to suddenly awake from a deep sleep and learn that in your dreaming you had killed and shed blood. Such was the wisdom that rested over him as he stared at the Silmarils, the jewel sought by so many, for which wars were fought and loyalties were betrayed. His obsession had left bitter parting gifts and when Maedhros understood why he would never feel the grace of Eru upon him again, wept in sorrow and despair.

  
His tears had brought him to this place where the earth heaved underfoot and breathed fire from gaping fissures. Fire and ash riddled the air he breathed and made him flinch when embers of heat brushed against his skin. He looked at the black sky above and wondered if Maglor still lived. How had his brother accepted the knowledge of the Silmarils’ rejection? No better than he, Maedhros supposed. In either case, it mattered little because this was a place of endings. The doom of men would be his fate and Maedhros knew that it was a just end for all that he had wrought in Arda.

He could no longer even carry the Silmarils in his hand and had only been able to bear it this far because he had placed it within the confines of the Dragon Helm. Azaghal presented the helm to him for saving his life.Maedhros had retrieved it after hunting down the dwarves responsible for the sacking Menegroth in their efforts to steal the Nauglamir. The helm had been his gift to Fingon and Maedhros’ abhorrence of the dwarves gaining possession of it had led Feanor’s son to reacquire it at any cost. He had hoped to return it to the line of Hador as Fingon would have wanted but that was no longer possible.

  
Maedhros looked into chasm, a mere inches from his feet, stared past the mouth of darkness and followed its depths to the amber glow of light at the very bottom. As much as he despised himself and his actions over theSilmarils, he had not the strength to let it go for fear that someone else might claim possession of it. Even now, he was the jewel’s creature and Maedhros had come the realisation that there was only one way in which he could free himself from it. He took Azaghal’s helm and stared at the jewel inside of it, mesmerized by the light of the trees that lived within its crystal facets. No one knew with what Feanor had constructed the Silmarils, only that the secret would reveal itself with the unmaking of the world.

This thing of beauty had changed the fate of his people, had turned his father into a fanatic, made him into a murderer and caused Morgoth’s complete and utter destruction. The Silmarils had been the achievement of his father’s skill but had ruined his family forever. Closing his eyes, it was the only way Maedhros knew of severing the jewel’s overpowering hold of him. It would be a temporary respite because there were no eyelids in the mind. Its spell diminished briefly and as tears rolled down his cheeks, Maedhros reached into the helm and enclosed his fist around the jewel one last time. The pain rushed at him, sending waves of white-hot agony through his flesh. He opened his mouth and screamed in defiance of it before forcing his legs to move.

He was almost mindless with agony when his feet propelled him forward. The helm rocked briefly against the ground where he had dropped it and was the only witness to the Maedhros’ despaired leap over the edge of the chasm.

Maedhros felt air beneath him, felt the rush of heat that preceded a blast of fire from this chasm and felt no fear even if the Silmarils was burning a hole through his palm. He cared nothing for the bloom of fire at the bottom of the pit, rising quickly to greet him and the jewel. He saw it surging in a wall of flame and knew that his doom would be quick if nothing else. He feared not his passage from the world because at least there was one consolation to all this.

The Silmaril would belong to no one else after him.

**********

 

**_PRESENT DAY_ **

Doctor Petra Tebben had met her benefactor only once. However, one meeting was all that was necessary when that benefactor was John Malcolm, the CEO of the conglomerate known throughout the globe as Malcolm Industries.

Petra had found Malcolm to be charming if somewhat intimidating. She had the impression that he enjoyed using his very formidable presence to provoke that response in the people he met. She had to confess to not liking him very much and had regarded his initial request to see her with much skepticism. As one of many archaeologists in the Museum of Stavanger in Norway, she did not know why the wealthy magnate had singled her out. Her professional career until that point had been less than stellar, her papers were informative but not striking and it was the striking that attracted large research grants. She had become resigned to the fact that she would never be considered a giant in her chosen profession.

John Malcolm had changed during their one and only meeting.

When she met him in the company headquarters in Oslo, she had been uncertain what to expect. Certainly, it had surprised her to learn that he was familiar with her research, which was largely centered around the Temple Glacier of Hofsjokull in Iceland.

During her brief expedition to the collapsed volcano, she had uncovered ice samples from far beneath the caldera of the mountain that revealed traces elements of minerals that were somewhat of an aberration on the periodic table. However, the samples were too minute in their quantities and too contaminated by time for an accurate determination as to what they were. At best, they were a curiosity, at the very least, speculation. Petra had been convinced that there was something to find deep beneath the glacier of Hofsjokull but she had neither data nor theory to offer anyone as to what that might be. Certainly not enough for a grant and was partly the reason why she had chosen to travel to Oslo to see Malcolm.

Malcolm not only believed in her research but offered to fund her with no limit to the expenses she may require to seek out what he believed was the secret beneath the mountain. She suspected that he might have an ulterior motive but the truth of it was, she was too eager to go embark upon the excavation to look very closely at his reasons. She accepted his offer of a grant without question and only raised a brow when he made the request that the project be called Maedhros. When she questioned the man about it, he had been evasive but not before reminding her that his money allowed him his eccentricities.

  
Petra tended to agree.

She was on a Malcolm Industries plane to Iceland within the month after her meeting with its CEO, having carefully selecting her team. As promised, Malcolm ensured that the excavation was in want for nothing. They were provided with the state of the art equipment and what they did not have, she only had to ask to acquire. A tremendous amount of money was funding the work and for the next year, they burrowed deep beneath the glacier, extracting ice samples, analyzing the data and finding that curious residue of unidentifiable material. At first, she thought that it could have been the effect of a meteor hit. It was certainly conceivable. It would explain the presence of the minerals they were unable to recognise. However, the deeper the excavation, the more the theory was disproved until Petra abandoned it all together.

In the meantime, she sent her reports dutifully to Malcolm who always returned to her a quick note of encouragement and confidence but interfered no more than that. One thing she admired about him, considering that individuals privately funding scientific pursuits tended to be impatient and demanding of quick results, was his patience. He always encouraged but never insisted. The expedition continued without pressure and this freedom to work at their own pace was very liberating indeed. Petra counted herself fortunate that she had found Malcolm as a benefactor or rather,  _he_  had found her.

The excavation reached a turning point when a computerized laser fusion device began malfunctioning while conducting potassium argon dating. The machine was replaced with another while it was being repaired and the replacement soon displayed the same defect. At first, she thought it was a coincidence but her scientific curiosity had been piqued and as any good scientist would do, she carried out an experiment by acquiring a third machine for the analysis. The defect remained. A technician explained that the only other explanation was the fact that the devices were detecting something other than the argon atoms in its spectrometer.

It was purely on a whim that Petra used a Geiger counter to examine the samples and found that its readings were almost off scale.

At first the team thought they had struck a vein of uranium but none of the subsequent techniques to determine this for a certain could prove it and the excitement that they had stumbled upon something utterly unexpected bade them to continue despite the possibility of radiation poisoning. Petra’s report to John Malcolm was answered by the arrival of an expert in the field who quickly assuaged their fears and persuaded them that it was perfectly save to continue with the work. Petra had been more eager to do so because she knew they were so close. She could almost taste it.

But then John Malcolm died and suddenly, she was without a grant.

His successor David Saeran ordered the immediate termination of the project but Petra was not about to stop now that she was so close to the find of a lifetime. Malcolm’s generous grants and Petra’s carefully handling of the project’s finances ensured that the excavation could continue for at least six months to a year. She told no one on her team that she was defying their new patron’s wishes. Petra was convinced that the find would vindicate her in the eyes of David Saeran and make him see that she was right to continue against his objections.

Two months of hard work and finally, they discovered  _something_.

It was not at all what they expected. It was not some strange new material that radiated an unknown form of energy but rather an archaeological artifact that rightly belonged in a historical museum. The helmet was beautifully crafted and unlike anything she had ever seen before. None of the other members of the team could identify its origins. It was clearly fashioned out of iron but the smelting techniques were unlike anything recorded and the carbon dating placed it at almost one hundred and fifty thousand years of age. The historical record was clear that iron had not been worked until the last thousand years and never to the degree of sophistication found in the helmet before them. A hundred and fifty thousand years ago was an evolutionary limbo for the human race, a time before modern man had made his arrival onto the world stage. The cranial capacity of the individual who would have worn this particular helmet clearly showed that it was far larger than the cranial structure of a human being.

Whatever the race created this helmet, it was certainly  _not_  human.

Petra knew without understanding why, that the helmet was connected to the unusual energy readings. Somehow they were linked and she only had to dig deeper to find out why. It was there beneath the earth, she was sure. All she had to do was find it.

Then the find of a lifetime would belong to no one else but her.


	2. Excavation

"What am I doing here?"

The question repeated itself from the lips of Eric Rowan as he swept his gaze across the arctic like landscape with its sheets of glacial ice buried under more even snowfall. Harsh winds raked across the terrain, creating a wall of snow that seemed almost blizzard like in its intensity. It was not enough that the air he was forced to breathe chilled his insides and gave him an accurate idea of what a corpse must feel but the wind picking up momentum was assailing his exposed skin ruthlessly. Granted only his face was exposed to the elements while the rest of him was buried under several layers of thermal clothing, it still felt as if he was standing naked in the middle of the tundra.

"What are you doing here?" The question was hurled at him with almost as much bite as the winds and the freezing climate.

Eric rolled his eyes in resignation and supposed that he deserved this for openly lamenting his outcast state. The sharp retort had come from Jason Merrick, his young cameraman from New Zealand who had been forced to accept exile alongside of him because he was one half of their journalistic team. Since being forced here, Jason who was normally a most affable young fellow with the occasion flares of hot temper was projecting ejecta so frequently that it was in danger of melting the snow of Iceland. The younger man shot him a disgruntled glare as he carried his camera, his nose a shade rosier than the rest of him, making him resemble one of those red nosed elves frequenting Christmas cards. Of course, making this observation known to Jason would probably end up with Eric having to remove the camera from his posterior  _surgically_.

"Are you going to start this again?" Eric stared at him.

"Start what again?" Jason grumbled. "Remind you of the fact that the reason we’ve been sent here is because you decided to seduce our editor’s wife?"

"I did not seduce her," Eric retorted haughtily. "The woman came on to me!"

"Eric," Jason paused and stared at him, "I know I’m younger than you but there are some things you just  _don’t_  do. You don’t tell a woman she’s fat unless you want your spleen handed to you, you don’t make sheep jokes to graziers and finally and most importantly, YOU DO NOT ATTEMPT TO BANG YOUR BOSS’ WIFE EVEN IF SHE COMES ON TO YOU!"

"I had a few beers," Eric muttered and resumed walking.

"You’re Australian, you always have a few beers!" Jason snapped, "it’s a bloody state of being for you Ockers!"

Eric supposed he had reason to be angry. Before Iceland, they were bound for the Gulf, preparing to take part in the journalistic feast that was the present Middle Eastern war. Careers were being made and for Jason whose aspirations included being a journalist himself one day, it was an opportunity of a lifetime to enter the battle zone and be apart of some history making events. Even as jaded as he was being a journalist for Channel Nine News division the past seven years, Eric could not deny looking forward to the assignment with similar enthusiasm. However, during an office party a few days before they were to leave for the gulf, Eric had a most unfortunate encounter with their editor’s beautiful wife, Dominique.

Eric was aware of Dominique’s interest from previous social engagements but one too many beers had led him to throw caution to the winds and on a balcony attached to the function room the company had hired for the night, he acted on his impulses. Unfortunately, his impulse was witnessed by almost everyone on the balcony, including Dominique’s humiliated husband, his immediate superior. Robert had said nothing at the time, he was too much the gentlemen to make any more of a spectacle of himself than his wife had already done. Instead, they had left abruptly leaving Eric with an understandably impending sense of doom.

  
The next morning he and Jason were summoned to Robert’s office where they were told very politely by the man, who did an admirable job of hiding his rage, that it appeared the Americans were cutting down the number of journalists permitted to enter the war zone. Seniority demanded that he and Jason be the casualties of this shortened list. Instead of the warm Gulf, they were being sent to Iceland to do a human-interest story on an excavation that was taking place in the Temple Glacier in the heart of the country. Eric had made no effort to protest the assignment, perfectly aware that he deserved the punishment because Robert could have fired him. Eric was certain that there was something in his contract about moral turpitude that would permit such a course.

"You know what your problem is?" Jason continued speaking, "you’re like this with all women!"

"I am not," Eric defended himself as they made their way across the snow covered plain to the top of the glacier. The dig was supposedly taking place within the collapsed cone of what was formally a volcano. It was now filled with snow instead of lava (fortunately) and the bulk of the work was being undertaken almost half a mile beneath the surface. Even as they approached the apex, they could see the campsite the archaeologists retired to when the day’s work was done. Colorful tents made for cold weather broke the magnificent line of snow and sky. He could see fold up chairs, lamps and other pieces of equipment stretching across the encampment.

"Oh really," Jason hissed, "how many times have you called the women on that encyclopedia you call a black book, more than once?"

Eric wondered if this was going to be the topic of conversation between himself and Jason for the next year. It was not his fault that women found him attractive. Compared to Jason, he was tall almost 6’2, with dark hair and overly intense hazel eyes. The fact that his look was rugged and his lean form was almost always sheathed in jeans and loose denim shirts, ensured he never had to look far for female company. Unfortunately, as he was now starting to learn, this was  _not_  always a good thing.

"Look, can we talk about this later?" he declared as he saw a figure emerge from one of the tents.

The person, clad in a heavy parka with a hood that made it difficult to discern if it was male or female, waved upon catching sight of them. Eric took a deep breath, telling himself the sooner they get this story over with the better. Trudging up the side of the volcano, he could see his breath escaping in puffs of vapor and drove home his longing for the delicious Australian heat even more acutely. He supposed this was part of Robert’s revenge; to send him as far away from Cronulla Beach so that his favorite past time of surfing would seem like a distant dream in this desolate place.

"Mr Rowan?" Their liaison, which they found out upon closer observation was female, extended a gloved hand towards him.

"That’s right, I’m Eric and this is my camera man Jason Merrick," Eric introduced himself politely to what appeared to be a young woman in her twenties. It was difficult to discern anything else about her because only her face was exposed to the elements. Considering the temperature was somewhere in the minuses, it was hardly surprising and completely understandable. "We’re from Channel Nine News, Sydney."

"We’ve been expecting you," the young lady with a Scandinavian accent replied as she gave both Eric and Jason a nod of acknowledgement. "My name is Freya. Doctor Tebben asked me to take you down to the site when you arrived."

"Thank you," Eric flashed her his most charming smile, "you speak very good English."

The girl blushed beneath the Australian’s charming smile before replying, "I lived in England with my parents for many years, so I had to learn."

"Well you learnt well," Eric replied, wondered briefly what she looked like beneath all that thermal padding.

She threw him an equally alluring smile before turning towards the snow filled mouth of the glacier, "if you follow me please?"

Eric started to follow her when he saw the knowing look on Jason’s face.

  
"What?" Eric replied defensively.

The cameraman shook his head and grunted softly as he walked past Eric, "the prosecution rests."

***********

The excavation required them to travel into the mouth of the crater. Once past its edge, the inner walls revealed a steep descent that was almost a sheer drop of several hundred meters. Only experienced rock climbers could make the effort to lower themselves into the chasm without serious injury. Fortunately, John Malcolm’s generous grant had ensured his research team did not have to undertake such a dangerous journey in order to reach the surface or the depths of the crater. A suspension lift or funicular like those used to ferry skiers to prime ski tracks in the mountain had been built for the convenience of the archaeological team.

Eric had been less than impressed about climbing into the contraption, which by his reckoning was rather fragile looking. It was little more than a boxed steel frame connected to a hoist and operated by a two or three large but unimpressive looking buttons. That it rattled when the three climbed into it did not fill him with confidence as to its reliability. However, he was forced to bite his tongue because Freya convinced them both that the lift was perfectly safe. Since plunging to his death carrying out this assignment was infinitely less painful than telling his boss (whose wife he had been caught groping) that he was too terrified to get into a lift, Eric climbed in without further complaint. Fortunately, he derived some measure of satisfaction in seeing the same reluctance from Jason as he stepped into the contraption.

Once Freya sent the lift on its way, Eric had to confess that his trepidation eased somewhat since the lift continued its downward journey with little incident. In order to take his mind off the journey and a slight case of vertigo, Jason had begun filming their descent towards the excavation site while Eric took the opportunity to learn a little more about the work conducted. In truth, when he and Jason had been handed this assignment, he had not considered the possibility of there being a story here in the frozen plains of Iceland. However, as he noted the depths into which they were descending, he wondered if perhaps he might have been incorrect about this original assessment.

"I understand that you have been studying ice samples," Eric asked Freya; his eyes fixed on the sunlight above which was slowly shrinking as they were lowered deeper into the chasm. Save for a small light inside the mesh, they would be bathed in darkness once they moved out of the sun’s reach.

"It began as ice samples," Freya explained enthusiastically, "but now it artifacts."

"Artifacts?" Eric raised a brow. "Here?"

"Yes," Freya said with barely concealed smile of excitement, "most of us specialize in stratigraphy and geology so our primary interest is the study of ice layers through the ages. We were expected our discoveries to be limited to pollen, perhaps fossilized vegetable matter or trace elements in the ice left over from atmospheric changes in the weather, nothing as prolific as an actual artifact or a man made object that predates the known colonization date of Iceland."

"Really?" Jason exclaimed. "Its older than 800 AD?"

Eric looked at him with mild surprise.

"I read the brochures on the plane," Jason retorted before turning back to Freya.

"Your cameraman is correct," Freya nodded, "we are at a loss to explain it. We’ve been working on some particular pieces for the last month and we have never seen anything like it. Doctor Tebben is very excited, she is certain we are on the brink of an amazing find."

"I’ll look forward to see them," Eric returned. "It must be fortunate that your grant is so generous. Not many teams I’ve come across have portable lifts like this."

"Doctor Tebben says that we are very fortunate that Malcolm Industries has such confidence in the research," Freya replied. "But in all truth, I do not know much about the financial side of things. I am merely a research assistant and Doctor Tebben handles these matters personally."

"I understand," Eric answered neutrally although his interest was well and truly piqued in learning that a global conglomerate like Malcolm Industries was funding this entire expedition. It was not often that a company handed what seemed like a blank cheque to an archaeological team, not unless it expected to be very well compensated. The journalist in him was too cynical to believe that Malcolm Industries' reasons for funding this excavation was purely for the pursuit of scientific discovery.

Perhaps, there was a story here after all, just not the one his editor had expected.

***********

It did not take long for them to reach the bottom of the chasm and as Eric gazed upwards into the distant sky, he did not like the idea that should anything happen to the contraption that brought them here, there would be no way out. He did not point out this observation to Jason who had avoided looking up or down during the trip in the lift. Jason was a good kid who had been with him through some rather hairy situations during the past four years. He had become his Eric’s cameraman during the Chechnya War in 1999. It was not an easy assignment for one as green as Jason had been when they first arrived in the war torn country. However, Jason had managed to keep his head in the face of some rather horrific atrocities carried out by both Russian and rebel forces alike.

Quite frankly, Eric was uncertain if he would be able to go the distance because Jason was less than a year out of college and had spent most of his short career as an assistant cameraman on a minor magazine show. His promotion had come because Eric had needed a cameraman immediately and Jason had been willing to work in a place where Russian soldiers ripped apart female snipers with armored transports to find release. The risk factor had been high, despite the opportunity for career advancement. However, something about Jason had struck Eric during their initial meeting that gave the older man confidence that this was someone who would not only work alongside of him but also watch his back if necessary.

It was an accurate assessment since there were numerous occasion in the past when it was felt like Jason was the more levelheaded member of their duo.

Freya led them through a series of ice filled catacombs and despite the icy coldness biting into their skins, the temperature was not as severe as it had been on the surface. The depths protected them from the harsh blizzard winds but Iceland was a haven of geo-thermal activity and whilst the Temple Glacier had been deemed dormant, there were many fissure containing hot gasses that could accidentally rupture at any point. The archaeology team was equipped with seismic equipment that would raise the alarm in such an instance and it was partially for this reason that the funicular had been installed. It would allow for a hasty departure if such a danger became eminent.

"You smell something here?" Jason asked as they followed Freya through the passageway leading to the excavation site. Thanks torches along the wall they were not completely shrouded in darkness. Still the torches could provide little more than dim illumination. In the distance, they could hear voices echoing and guessed that these most likely belonged to the rest of the team.

"I do," Eric answered quietly, having no wish to be heard. "Since when do companies like Malcolm Industries fund archaeological digs trying to uncover pollen in ice samples? There’s more to this than meets the eyes. My nose sniffs it."

"You sure it’s not the girl?" Jason quipped, unable to let that remark pass without comment.

"Why are you still working for me?" Eric gave him a look.

"Cause I’m the only one who put up with your shit without bloody well killing you in your sleep?" Jason retorted.

"Oh yeah," Eric grinned and returned to the subject at hand. "Besides I want to know why we were called in to cover this story."

Jason opened his mouth to answer but Eric cut him off.

"Other than me groping our boss’ wife that is," Eric declared. "If this is big, why invite a couple of journos in here? Most companies like to sit on their secrets until their PR people release it in a nice, marketable package. This doesn’t sound like a company spin."

  
Jason did not refute Eric’s observations. The man may have been a hopeless womanizer but his reputation was one of Australia’s best investigative journalists was not exactly undeserved. Behind his charming and somewhat disarming manner, particularly around the ladies, Jason was aware of the sharp intellect that had the ability to strip away inconsistencies and inaccuracies to uncover the irrefutable truth. With Eric, it was not all about the story but also the truth. Part of the younger man’s reason for remaining Eric Rowan’s cameraman was the fact that Jason believed he was learning his craft from the best.

  
They reached the end of their journey when Eric and Jason saw Freya leading them to a large cavern that was well lit. The echoes of voices emanated from here and as they approached, began to discern that there was a group of people working diligently within it. He could hear their voices, their footsteps and the sound of their tools against the ice. He wondered how many of them there were and long their day lasted. It was still daylight and wondered if these people did not feel somewhat cloistered away from the world in this rather inhospitable place.

Arriving at the entrance of the cavern, Eric saw that there were at least seven members of the research team. Their sexes were difficult to determine because all of them were clad in cold weather gear that somewhat stripped the characteristics of gender for those who did not know them. The cavern was obviously their base camp since the concentration of equipment and personnel was fixed on this point. No doubt they used this place as their beachhead for the further exploration of the caves. All eyes turned to them as they arrived and worked stopped. Small hammers and tools were lowered and instruments were temporarily ignored for the purpose of viewing briefly the new arrivals in their midst.

Like all her colleagues, Doctor Petra Tebben was clad in thick, cold weather gear. She was very much the Nordic beauty for her face was pale and the thin line of her eyebrows were white gold. She looked at him with full blue eyes and her pink lips stretched into a smile when she extended her hand towards him.

"Mr Rowan," she said politely.

"You must be Doctor Tebben," Eric answered grasping her gloved hand in greeting. "This is my cameraman Jason Merrick."

"Please to meet you Mr Merrick," she nodded in his direction before turning her eyes back to Eric, "please call me Petra."

"My pleasure," he said politely.

For the next few minutes, Petra went through the motions of introducing her research staff, their fields and their backgrounds before dismissing Freya to take charge of them personally. She led them to a fold up table that apparently acted as their ration counter and provided them both with a steaming cup of coffee, a godsend in Eric’s opinion almost as good as beer. Almost.

"Freya tells me that you’ve made some astonishing discoveries down here," Eric commented.

"Yes," Petra nodded enthusiastically. "Its quite amazing actually. I came here because I found trace elements in the ice core samples I acquired during a previous excavation that do not have the same spectra as any element I’ve ever seen."

"I’m sorry," Eric looked at her blankly. "I’m afraid this is not my field of expertise, you’re going to have to give it to me in laymen’s terms."

"Of course," she replied, "I sometimes forget that there are people in this world who do not live in academia. Every element in the periodic table has its own spectra. Each one is unique and under analysis, instruments are meant to be able to identify each one of them. We have detected something that isn’t identifiable."

"You mean a new element?" Eric’s brow shot up in amazement.

  
"Or perhaps a very old one," she countered.

"Freya said you found artifacts," Jason added becoming more intrigued by the moment.

  
This was by no means the kind of story that could land him a Pulitzer Prize but it was an important discovery that was being made here and Eric began to become and more enthused by what he was hearing.

"Yes," Petra nodded, grateful that the men seemed genuinely interested in the work, beyond professional interest. "If you follow me, I’ll show you."

"That would be great," Eric replied and then glanced at Jason, "get some shots of all this would you?"

"Sure," Jason nodded obediently and hoisted his camera to his shoulder to begin filming the surrounding excavation site.

As he did so, some of the researchers waved playfully into the camera, pausing long enough to indulge themselves in a little bit of absurdity. Some spoke to the camera, uttering the Norwegian translation of ‘hello mum and dad’ and posing for dramatic effect, all of which was great footage as far as the young Kiwi was concerned. It would add a humanizing element to the story when the final cut was made.

When Jason finally reached Petra and Eric once more, the doctor was standing at another fold up table. She was reaching into a steel box after releasing the locks and handling the contents with great care. Jason immediately directed the camera at the object she removed from inside it. The artifact that had caused this excavation such great excitement appeared for all intensive purposes a helmet. It was extremely tarnished but the shape was unmistakable.

  
"It is a helmet isn’t it?" Eric asked, stating the obvious.

"We call it a helm. It is very unusual because is has a visor that covers the eyes. The technique was developed to some degree by the Romans and perfected by the middle ages but this design is unknown to us."

"It could be possible that the ancient races got here before the colonization by the Irish monks." Jason offered.

"This is what I get when I choose to watch the in-flight movie instead of catching up on my reading," Eric retorted, impressed by his younger friend’s acumen.

"We thought that," Petra replied, "but then we put it through potassium argon dating and what we found was very exciting. At first we thought the machine was malfunctioning. We went through three of them before we decided that it wasn’t. It has a potassium argon date of one hundred and fifty thousand years."

Eric was no archaeologist but even he was staggered by that piece of news. "How is that possible? I thought we were still in the Stone Age then."

"By all rights, this should not exist. Recorded history proves that we did not work metal of any kind until the Calcolithic Age where copper was used and that was between 6000 and 3000 BC. This was made during Pliocene and  _before_  the Paleolithic, the age of the hunter gatherers."

"So we’ve been wrong about the earliest civilizations?" Eric asked, envisioning how he was going to write  _this_  particular story.

"I do not believe so," Petra answered reaching for the helmet, "try and put it over your head."

Eric stared at her. "I beg your pardon?"

"Please," she insisted with a knowing smile. "We have run all the tests on it we can. You won’t be affecting its integrity in anyway."

"Go on," Jason insisted, aiming the camera at Eric as he spoke.

Eric frowned and removed the hood of his parka. Cold air assaulted his ears and turned it a shade redder he was certain. He picked up the helmet and stared at it dubiously, before lowering it about his head.

"I always pictured you as this tall, blond Viking type," Jason sniggered from behind the camera.

"Bugger off," Eric retorted and settled the helmet over his head. He did not like the smell and he could not see properly out of it. It took a moment of attempted adjustments before he discerned why.

"Its too big," he complained. "How the hell is anyone supposed to see out of it?"

"Precisely," Petra said smugly, "it is too big for a human skull."

Eric took the thing off his head and stared at the woman, "are you saying this isn’t made for a human?"

"The cranium required to fit that comfortably is too large for a human, even if someone built it with added space. I even considered that it might be for another species, a Neanderthal perhaps. Their cranium capacity was larger than Cro-Magnon man but the size was too big even for that. You saw for yourself." Petra declared.

"You can prove this?" Eric stared at her, not wishing to break the story if it was going to be refuted by every archeologist in the scientific community. It was something of a leap to go from an oversize helmet, no matter how old it was, to the possibility that it may have been created by another evolved species of which they had no previous knowledge.

"I do not need to," Petra said with a smile, "we found something else."

*************

The Hydrostatic Snow Cat started to slow some distance from the campsite.

In size, it was considerably larger than the vehicle used by Eric Rowan and Jason Merrick to reach the excavation site. It moved silently, a sleek, black engine of efficiency as it glided across the snow. Against the pristine white plains of the glacier, it was difficult to ignore the vehicle, its shiny black exterior gleaming beneath the sunlight. It had been travelling this course for some time now, its agenda secret almost as secret as the occupants within. For once, there was no danger of being seen. In this wilderness, it was easy to believe that there was no one else in this world.

For he who was known as Morgul among his brothers, the isolation would prove most useful in what needed to be done.

He could sense the power emanating from their destination, it breathed beneath the earth with a strength that could almost rival their connection to their master if he were not lost. When they were far away, the power felt distant and vague. Now that they neared it, it had grown in strength, until its radiance was like the stars in the sky. The irony of that description was not lost upon Morgul, once called the Witch King of Angmar. To his brothers, this was yet another demeaning task set out by the master’s woman, the human agent who walked where they could not, whose aid they were forced to accept in order function in this strange mechanized world they had been brought into by the Master following his resurrection.

It had been somewhat discerning for the Nine to awaken in this strange land, so far removed the world they had known and found not even their lord was free of servitude. The Master served the Dark One, the Exile from whom all evil had come. Although they pledged their allegiance to the Exile, in truth they served without question, the one who had made them what they were. Now both were gone. The Exile or Malcolm as he was known in his most recent incarnation, was destroyed so utterly that it was likely that he no longer existed anywhere in Ea. The Master had suspected the Exile had been commended into the hands of Iluvutar himself and what the creator of all chose to do with his errant child was for his knowing only.

The Master was not destroyed as the Exile had been but he was well beyond their reach nonetheless. For six months after he was taken from them, they sought far and wide and found nothing. Bryan Miller, the human who had vaporized them in their Master’s domain and sent then back to the shadow world to restore themselves, had ensured that there would be no trail to follow. With great reluctance, Morgul was forced to accept that the enemy had taken the their Master through the barrier that separated the Undying lands from the world. It was the  _one_  place they could no go to retrieve him. The woman whose bidding they were forced to carry out, whose desire to find the Master rivaled theirs in intensity had sent them on this mission because they had exhausted all other avenues of hope.

Hope, it was an odd thing for a Nazgul to feel but it was the truth. Without the Master, their phantom souls felt less tangible than ever. It was like craving air but not being able to die of suffocation. The emptiness of his absence was gnawing at them, an itch against the skin that burrowed deep into the flesh and tormented them with each waking moment. The Master had created them well, had bound them to him in chains so strong that not even death could free them. The woman, Irina had told them that what awaited beneath the caverns of Iceland was important. As Morgul and his brothers neared the open mouth of the once dead volcano turned glacier, he could sense the power that made him understand what plan she had in mind.

For a human, he had to concede her genius and wondered if this was the reason why she was so favored by the Master.

The Nine had never understood the Master’s need for the woman but understanding was not what he required of them. The Nine was his sword and his will. What the woman was to him was a mystery and entirely the Master’s affair. The Nine’s present allegiance to her was out of mutual need. They needed her to retrieve the Master. It did not matter what came after. The time for debating that question could retreat in the shadow world of Morgul’s mind until  _after_  they had completed their task.

They did not feel the icy cold as they stepped out of the vehicle, dressed in their non-descript suit of black, identical from one another. A witness charting their movement across the snow would feel a cold chill shuddering through them that had little to do with the cold. They moved across the plain like shadows in the daylight, an abomination breathing life in dark Armani. The Nine did not feel comfortable moving about in the light of day but it was necessary to undertake the task quickly thanks to the added complication that Irina had explained to them when they were sent here.

"Do you feel it?" One of his brothers asked as the crater loomed and the sensation bombarded them like colors of the rainbow. They had heard the legends but experiencing it for the first time was unsettling. It made them anxious, a most curious sensation.

"Yes," Morgul nodded, grateful for the sunglasses that filtered the glaring white glare of the snow, "it burns."

***********

Unlike the helm that had been contained in a secure box and was rather easy to identify, the find upon which Petra was basing all her hopes appeared to be little more than a rock no larger than his palm with no discernible value. Its importance however was established soon enough once Eric and Jason were allowed to make a closer inspection. The young man with frizzy brown hair and thick glasses, working diligently to remove the layers of rock and sediment surrounding the artifact had uncovered a tiny section of it. . His meticulous and laborious effort had allowed them a glimpse of the artifact’s true appearance.

What lay beneath the fossilized dirt and stone was the facet of a jewel, possibly the largest ruby the world had ever seen. It gleamed in crimson light, reminding Eric absurdly of the red light pens used in presentations. The outpouring beam captured the eyes and one could not help but become lost in its power. For a brief moment, it felt as if its light was piercing the walls of his skill, infecting his brain with its promised beauty.

"Is that a ruby?" Eric looked away after a moment. He was forced to blink and turn away. Jason was still staring at it.

"It does have that effect on you doesn’t it?" Petra said in perfect empathy, remembering how she had been similarly transfixed when Gunther had first exposed that small portion of it.

"It is amazing," Eric replied. However, he sensed that Petra’s enthusiasm was not simply due to the discovery of a ruby, if that was what this artifact was. "So is it a ruby?" He repeated the question.

"I don’t believe so. The spectral analysis does not support it. It may seem like a ruby but it is not one," Petra answered sincerely, "however, the energy readings emanating from it is phenomenal. At first we thought it could be radioactive but the scans we’ve been able to make tell us that it is not an actinide. We examined it with an electron microscope and its composition resembles a crystal more than any mineral of the corundum family. However, crystals do not radiate energy and certainly not in the levels this is producing."

"Is it harmful?" Eric asked and noted that Jason had taken a step backward as soon as the word radioactive was mentioned. For the first time, Eric observed the instruments around the workbench and realized a great deal of analysis had preceded the restoration work.

"Not that we’ve been able to find," Petra answered. "Usually exposure to radiation produces overt physical reactions but none of the team has displayed any effects of the kind. Just to be safe, no one handles the artifact without proper safety gloves and we conduct regular medical examinations of anyone coming into contact with it on a prolonged basis.

"So what kind of energy is it?" Eric inquired, his eyes shifting back to the artifact, searching for that crimson gleam once more.

"We have yet to determine that," Petra answered, happy that the journalist was seeing the importance of the discovery, not just another curiosity of academia. "However, we are very excited at the possibilities. We could be on the verge of discovering a new source of power. It the artifact is this small and capable of producing such high energy levels, imagine what it could do in large quantities? We could be lighting cities with a relatively small amount of this substance."

"You’re assuming that there is more?" he turned to her, thinking that was something of a leap.

"I hope there is," she replied.

"I am rather surprised that Malcolm Industries would invite the media into this," Eric pointed out while Jason was busily filming the work conducted on the artifact. "If this is the case, they’re on the verge of a virtual fortune. I would think they would want to keep it quiet for a while."

Petra’s expression wavered just enough for Eric to catch it and suddenly, he had the strangest suspicion that perhaps things were not as he believed them to be. The woman swallowed thickly, aware that he had caught her lapse and appeared for a moment, deep in thought as she debated whether or not she should take him into her confidence. She took a step away from the table, her eyes meeting Eric’s long enough to ask him to join her before moving away from it entirely. The journalist followed her to a quiet corner, marveling inwardly at the treasure throve this story was evolving into. His boss had thought sending him here to cover what was essentially a piece that got buried at the tail end of the news would be punishment for his sins. Eric was going to have great pleasure telling Robert how wrong he was.

"You have something to tell me?" He looked at her in expectation.

"Yes," Petra nodded guiltily. "It was not Malcolm Industries that requested your presence here. I made the call to bring a news team here?"

"Why?" Eric asked quietly, wondering what else Petra had hidden from her colleagues.

"They don’t believe in the work and they want us to stop. I thought that if I contacted a news team that was somewhat off the beaten track, Malcolm Industries would not notice until the story was released and the find were revealed to the world. Then they would have no choice but to let the work continue and they cannot steal credit from me."

  
It made sense. He had wondered why an Australian new team had been invited to cover a story in Iceland. At the time, he had not thought past Robert’s motivation of vengeance but there was certain logic to what she was claiming. If she wished to reveal her find to world without interference from Malcolm Industries, then the best way to do so was to approach a news organization that was not local. The fact that he would be usurping some corporation’s big moment amused him to no end and if she had been the driving force behind the work conducted here, Eric saw no reason why she should not share in the celebrity that came with the tremendous discovery. Scientists lived on research grants and the acclaim for she had found here would ensure that she never had to worry about funding again.

Even though he was loathed to admit it, there was a chivalrous streak in Eric that enjoyed coming to the assistance of a damsel in distress. Sure he was an utter bastard  _after_  bedding them but this intention to come to a lady’s aid was one of the few redeeming features in his altogether abysmal relationship with women.

"A story is a story," Eric replied after a moment, flashing her a genuine smile of reassurance, "the source doesn’t really matter."

Petra’s smile revealed her pleasure at his statement but her joy was short lived as her gaze shifted to the entrance of the cavern.

It was as if they had stepped out of the shadows. There was no warning of their arrival. They appeared at the mouth of the cavern as if they were shadows emerging from the dark. Judging by the expression on Petra’s face, Eric gathered quickly that the appearance of these strange men in their dark suits, hats and sunglasses, completely oblivious to the freezing temperatures, were unexpected guests.

"Who are you?" Petra crossed the floor as all eyes raised to meet them.

Eric counted nine of them. They were tall men with pasty white face, clad in the same clothes as if it were a uniform. For a moment, Eric wondered if they were the infamous Men in Black, the chief antagonist in almost every UFO movie made. They seemed expressionless and his inability to see their eyes made Eric shudder with a chill he could not explain. The cold did not seem to effect them at all, particularly in their inappropriate clothing. Eric watched as they surveyed the scene in an almost obligatory fashion, paying little heed to Petra’s demand for an explanation.

"What’s going on?" Jason asked coming alongside Eric.

"I don’t know," Eric shook his head, "but I have a real bad feeling about this."

No sooner than the words had left his mouth he saw Petra reach the leader of the group.

"This is a private excavation. You have no right to be here," she declared hotly.

The stranger looked at her, cocking his head to the side slightly as if she were merely curiosity before looking over his shoulder at his companions. He did not speak. He simply nodded.

And when he was done nodding, he produced a gun and opened fire.

Eric could only watch in horror as the bullet slammed into Petra’s skull and killed her with one shot. She had no time to scream, no time to realize that she was the opening act to a much greater drama and her role in it was done. Blood splattered across the white snow as pandemonium erupted in the room in a chaotic blend of screams and gunshots. The scientists were scattering in all directions but their only means of escaped was blocked by their mysterious assailants. Eric watched as bullets tore through the bodies of those around him and it was but a split second before his brain was motivated into acting but for that brief lapse, he saw blood everywhere and bodies falling to the ground. He saw Freya screaming in terror, just before she was torn apart by the Uzi wielded effectively by the enemy.

"Come on!" Eric grabbed Jason who was staring in astonishment by the terrible turn of events.

The young man stumbled forward just as a riddle of bullets slammed past him, killing Gunther who had left the artifact and had been trying to make cover. More than half the research was dead by this point as Eric thought quickly for a way out of this nightmarish situation. Suddenly, he saw the leader of them lower his weapon and stare directly at Jason. The man seemed to stiffen for a moment before his body began to tremble. Jason seemed to know that he had become the focus because the younger man was staring back at the enemy, his green eyes locked with the man.

"Move!" Eric replied, pulling him by the arm after making the decision that the only way out was the way they came. Somehow, they were going to have to get past these men.

" _PERIANNATH!"_ The man shouted in fury and surged towards Jason. He moved so quickly that when Eric blinked again, he was upon them.

"Get away from him!" Eric hissed and rushed the man who had set his sights on Jason, God only knew why.

The man lashed out. His fist caught Eric beneath the jaw and sent him halfway across the cavern from that powerful blow. Eric felt his face flare in pain, was certain that his jaw was broken and it was not, had come terribly close to it. His landing was broken painfully by a table. The Australian felt the collapsible table beneath him give way under his weight and crashed loudly as he landed on the hard ground. Eric’s head was swimming but the shattering sound of gunfire served to prompt his senses back to coherence with speed.

When Jason saw Eric flung across the room, his own rage had been provoked and he slammed his camera against the man, not caring about the film he was going to be destroying in the process. The man took the blow as if it were nothing and swatted him aside like he were a child. He staggered backwards, crushing the table where Gunther had worked, landing on the floor long enough to see the scientists body staring vacantly into nothingness, his blood a contrasting pool against the ice. However, it was not that which caught Jason’s eye but the artifact that was inches away from him, its gleam catching his attention once again. A thought struck Jason at that instant.

This was what they wanted.

Uncertain of what compelled him, he reached for it quickly, his hand enveloping the rock in a movement that appeared as if he were trying to stand up. Enclosing it in his gloved fist, Jason had barely enough time to store it in his pocket before feeling hands dragging him to his feet by the back of his parka. Whether or not the enemy had witnessed this was a question that would be answered soon enough.

"It has been a long time hobbit," the leader spoke and for the first time Jason realized that the face staring at him was a mask, not unlike that sported in several dozen Halloween film by the infamous Michael Myers. He stared into the dark sunglasses and saw his own reflection. For some strange reason, Jason knew that if he were to stare into the enemy’s eyes, he would see the same thing. Emptiness. The man’s voice was a hoarse whisper, like the sound of escaping gas hissing into the atmosphere, poisoning it with malevolence.

"What are you talking about?" Jason grunted as he felt hands digging into his throat. He was being lifted off the ground, his feet dangling beneath him. He struggled to break free but the grip upon him was merciless and powerful indeed. He could feel the air forced out of his throat, his lungs gasping for fresh oxygen.

"Is she here too?" The enemy demanded almost hysterically. "Is the shield bitch here too?"

"You’re crazy!" Jason shouted unable to comprehend what this man was trying to say. In desperation, Jason lashed out and tore the sunglasses from his attacker’s face.

What he saw beneath it drove all sense from his world.

They were not eyes. They were crimson points of light, very different indeed from what he had seen emanating from the artifact. That had the power to reach into the soul and unleash a world of possibility. All this could do was drive sense from his mind with nothing less than terror. What he saw into those fiery depths was branded on to his psyche, he doubted if he would ever be able to sleep again without seeing them in his nightmares.

"What are you?" Jason managed to say.

"You will die wondering, periannath," the enemy hissed.

"Or you will!" Eric shouted, appearing out of nowhere.

The older man was carrying the helm that Petra had shown them with such pride. Eric had grabbed it because he had needed a weapon and at the time, it was all that had he could find. Smashing it against the body of Jason’s attacker, the stranger shouted in pain and the section of helmet that had made contact with him sizzled with smoke. Jason tumbled to the ground, gasping for breath now that his airways were free again. He saw Eric slam the helmet against the man’s head, causing him to fall forward.

"Come on!" Eric shouted.

The others assailant were turning their attention to them and Eric knew that if did not get out now, they would die here with the rest of the research team.

Jason nodded and scrambled to his feet. Guns were being aimed at them as the bullets tore through the air in an effort to halt their progress. He felt projectiles whizzing past him and felt the rip at his shoulder when a bullet tore through the fabric of his parka, barely missing his flesh. Eric was leading the way, somehow managing to avoid the gunfire as they reached the mouth of the cavern. Jason could hear the enemy behind them, screaming at his comrades to give pursuit. The young cameraman prayed that Eric’s photographic memory could lead them back the way they came.

If not for the torches, it was likely that they would have been lost but Eric was nowhere confident that they may escape this place with their lives. He had seen some things in his life that made no sense. The brutality of man did not surprise him in the least. After places like Kosovo, Rwanda and Chechnya, Eric had seen enough blood spilled to last a lifetime but there was something about the slaughter they had just witnessed that frightened him to the core. The assassins had been stone killers the likes of which he had never seen and when one of them had singled out Jason for no apparent reason, Eric had been prompted to act out of sheer terror.

"Are they behind us?" He asked as he navigated the tunnels that brought him back to the lift.

A barrage of gunfire echoing down the hallway was answer enough.

"I would say that’s a yes," Jason retorted.

An unearthly screech traveled up the passageway as they hurried forward, their progress hindered because the ice was slippery and the breadcrumbs of torches were dim and provided little visibility. The tunnel amplified the sounds in the passageway and it chilled their blood when they heard the pursuing footsteps of the enemy. Eric’s stomach knotted further with apprehension, thinking that it would be a minor miracle if they escaped this stygian place with their lives. As it was, Eric was rather amazed that they were lying on the ice in that cavern, dead with the rest of the archaeological team. Perhaps it was due to seven years of being a field reporter in some of the worst places on earth that had given him the edge to make it this far. He hoped that edge was enough because for a hit like this, the assassins could leave no witnesses behind.

However, it appeared fortune was with them because they saw the passage empty into the bottom of the chasm. The faint light of the distant sky had provided some illumination and the lift, the contraption which he had been certain would kill them on the way here, had suddenly become their only means of survival. It was just as well because they could hear the enemy closing in on them. Their footsteps were looming and the intensity of bullets they were weaving about in the narrow passageway had increased.

"Get in!" Eric ordered Jason as they reached the lift. The younger man obeyed without question as Eric glanced anxiously at the passageway. He could see shadows flickering against the walls and knew that they would escape with barely a moment to spare. No sooner than Jason had stepped inside the mesh frame, Eric followed suit. He pulled the flimsy door shut as Jason fumbled for the buttons that would activate its upward descent. His fingers had just depressed the button when the assassins appeared.

The lift began moving upwards as they opened fire, with Eric and Jason dropping to the floor of the frame and causing it to swing precariously by the sudden motion. Bullets riddled the walls, filling the chasm with the thundering noise of gunfire. Some of the deadly projectiles struck the mesh and continued on its path. One of the bullets had actually nicked the side of Eric’s ear. The newsman hissed in pain, feeling warm blood coursing down his neck but grateful that the injury was not more severe. The enemy continued to shoot, forcing Jason and Eric to shift constantly in the small space to avoid being hit but fortunately, the lift continued its descent, oblivious to the predicament of its occupants.

"You’ve been shot!" Jason exclaimed as the increasing sunlight thanks to their approach to the surface, allowed him to see more clearly.

"Its nothing," Eric shrugged, touching his ear and flinching at the sting of pain. "Once we get up there, we’re going to have disable this thing so those bastards can’t come after us."

"What about survivors?" Jason asked. "Maybe some of the research team.."

"They’re all dead Jason," Eric met Jason’s eyes and spoke firmly, "those men were carrying out an order of execution that almost included us, I don’t think they would leave anyone alive down there to talk about it. In any case, we don’t have a choice. If we want to get out of here alive, we’re going to need time to put some distance between us and those bastards."

"They were after this," Jason declared, somewhat overwhelmed by everything that happened. He reached into his pocket and produced the artifact.

"You took it?" Eric’s brow shot up at the sight of the fractionally exposed jewel.

"I couldn’t let them have it," Jason replied, uncertain why he had taken it but knowing only that those men, no, not men, those  _things_ , could not be allowed to gain possession. "I just couldn’t."

"Well we’ll figure out why they were so eager to get their hands on it later," Eric declared, brushing aside the artifact for the moment because the business of getting back to civilization alive was their primary concern.

Jason nodded in agreement, his eyes staring into the darkness below them and wondering silently, what a periannath was.


	3. Visitors from the Sea

Something odd was taking place in the seaside community of Lochinver.

Despite its quaint atmosphere, Lochinver was one of the largest coastal ports in Western Scotland and was more than accustomed to having its share of visitors during the year. Once upon a time, the town’s principle means of support had been its fishing industry but in recent times, this traditional vocation had been supplanted for a newer thought equally feckless trade. Tourism. Visitors with busy lives in bustling metropolises flocked to Lochinver during the summers, turning the quiet fishing town into a model of commercial opportunism. 

It had all happened rather suddenly. A visitor had come, admired the sites and most likely returned home to whatever city, probably London and Manchester, spreading the word about the beauty of the Scottish coast. Certainly, Lochinver had a great deal to recommend it. Surrounded by the magnificent Canisp Mountains in the distance and the Suilven closer to home, Lochinver offered travelers panoramic views and a taste of that most elusive of things, timeless beauty. There was nothing slick or patented in the countryside, no attraction that was put there for the benefit of visitors. The seals, the puffins and the whales that made their yearly visits had done so for hundreds of years and would most likely continue to do so when Lochinver’s brush with the tourist trade had subsided.

The people of Lochinver had become accustomed to the strangers that suddenly flooded their community. The tourists arriving in their cars and buses moved through the quiet town like a whirlwind seeking desperately the elusive spark of holiday magic that would make the rest of the year somewhat tolerable. Some went away with a small understanding of the people and the history of town they had briefly invaded, most however, did not. The majority of tourists departing the community, did so with a snapshots of a preconceived ideal that successfully accomplished the rather artless task of reducing Lochinver to a packaged holiday haven dedicated to generating more tourist dollars. 

Lochinver’s residents had come to accept this situation as a fact of life. Every year, they braced themselves for the influx of visitors that swelled the town’s coffers and reminded the locals how nice it would be when autumn finally rolled along again when things would return to normal. They looked forward to it like they forward to all things, with quiet expectation and profound gratitude when the moment was finally upon them. 

This year however, something had changed.

At first, no one could discern what it was. It had happened so gradually that by the time they were aware of it, it had become so commonplace that it was difficult to remember when things had not been as they were now. As a coastal port, Lochinver was more than accustomed to the numerous vessels that sailed into its port throughout the year. Whether they were deep-sea trawlers on their way to find better fishing waters or wealthy mariners with custom fitted yachts, to the people of Lochinver their presence was as a fact of life. After all, Lochinver had began its life as a port and the arrival of ships was so ingrained into their identity, it would be considered unforgivable to question it.

However, in the last four months a new sort of traveler began making their appearance.

Small collections of men and women in boats that could only be described as antiques yet bearing such exquisite beauty that it could not be envisioned that they were anything but newly crafted for its perfection. Often tall with long hair and strange accents, they spoke English perfectly but one knew instinctively that it was not their native tongue. They did not lodge at Lochinver when they put to port, choosing instead to remain on their boats. However, when they did emerge, they were polite and eager to sample the local cuisine and converse to the townsfolk about any number of subjects.

They were undoubtedly foreign and it was generally believed that these visitors hailed from the colder, European countries for they seemed to have that air about them. Once arriving in the community, they lingered for no more than a day or two. Some would trade small gems and pearls for currency at the local jeweler, before departing the town on trains or buses to the parts unknown. It appeared none of these strangers drove. However, for the brief time they spent in Lochinver, they were gracious guests who took pleasure in the scenery, unlike the stomping tourists that invaded the town in the summer. 

There were rumors that these visitors were also sighted coming into port further up the coast in Drumbeg and Scourie but no one could confirm this and in truth, no was particularly rushed to do discern their secret, whatever it was. The strangers did not cause mischief and anyone in their presence would get the distinct impression that they wished to maintain their privacy. Lochinver’s inhabitants who longed for the days when their community was just a quiet hideaway in the Scottish coasts could respected the sentiment and saw no reason to cause trouble particularly when the arrangement seemed to suit everyone. 

There were occasions when the visitors were questioned about their origins, though these were mere inquiries not pointed interrogations. Across the sea, they would respond in answer, further promoting the belief that they had indeed originated from Iceland or one of the Nordic countries. They could not possibly be illegal immigrants because as often as they disappeared into the country from Lochinver, they also returned with similar frequency. After an interlude of many weeks, the visitors would promptly return to town, often bearing souvenirs from their travels before embarking upon the voyage home. In their grey ships, they would sail across into the mists and that was all one would hear from them until more of their countrymen returned.

When the latest of these visitors stepped on the wharf and made their way into town, their arrival hardly rated a glance. So commonplace were these odd visitors, that Lochinver’s residence no longer pondered their origins as they once had, aware only that once the visitors’ business was concluded, they would return the way they came. On this occasion, the new arrivals were two young men clad in dark heavy clothes that were well suited for the cooling weather. Both had long dark hair, braided in the appropriate places so that it would not become unruly, with serious expressions and handsome enough in their features to bring a smile to the faces of any woman that happened upon them.

Like those before them, they were polite and gracious to the people they encountered and it was not long before it was understood that they were brothers. Twins apparently, though not identical. The older of the two was the more conversant while the younger appeared more reserved if not a little shy. They remained in the town for a day, taking in the best of the town’s cuisine and, drinking all together too much Coke than was considered decent and making inquiries as to the next appearance of Xena, the Warrior Princess.

The next morning saw both men embarking upon their journey southwards, boarding a bus that would eventually take them to London. Like those who had come before them, they offered no word as to when they would return but the folk of Lochinver sensed they would see the brothers again. It was curious this understanding between Lochinver’s folk and these strangers. However, the trust had been engendered from the same feeling that had gripped them all since the first appearance of the majestic grey ships. No one spoke of it but they all felt it, felt it seeping into their bones, saturating their being with a presence so familiar and welcoming that it was almost enlightenment.

It was a feeling of starlight.

***********

Miranda Miller wished she were anywhere but here.

Sitting in her car, peering over the steering wheel at the busy street beyond the parking lot of the local shopping center she had been forced to visit to pick up Frank’s dry cleaning, she took a deep breath to steady herself. Her knuckles gripped the wheel tight until they were white from exertion as she struggled to control the shudder of anxiety that had become common place since returning to Europe. She had hoped returning here after nine years would spare her these lapses but it appeared she was not as settled with her demons as she liked to think. The atmosphere around her was so damn familiar to another experience, buried deep within memory and so secret that not even Frank knew about it, that it drove the air from her lungs and she had to take a minute to crush the uneasy emotions swelling inside her into nothingness.

She could not be this way in front of her husband or her children. They needed her too much for Miranda to disappoint them with such embarrassing weakness. In the old days, behavior like this would not be tolerated. She was required to keep rampant emotions under check and was sorely disappointed that after nine years, her skill sand training had degraded to such that she was sitting in her car, shuddering like just another frightened woman. It was with that thought that she shook off the sensation of discomfort and started the car. She had too much to do today to be wasting her time with this sentimental nonsense. 

This was Oslo, not Belfast and she was a housewife, not an intelligence operative working for the British government.

Miranda slid the key into the ignition and started the car, bringing to life the engines and filling the vehicle with its healthy drone. She glanced at her watch and saw that she was almost due to pick up her sons. Putting the vehicle in gear, Miranda proceeded to drive out of the parking lot into the street that would take her to the city center of Blindern where the boys were presently at school. It never ceased to amaze her how easily her mood improved when she thought about her family and their needs. To Miranda Miller, there was nothing more important than the welfare of the family that comprised of her two sons, Sammie and Philip, and Frank, the husband she adored, though she knew he sometimes wondered why.

Frank had entered Miranda’s life at a point when she believed that there was nothing ahead of her but the grim world of her demons consuming her until she ate a bullet. His entry in her life had been such a surprise that to this day, Miranda still wondered how it was possible for one person to so completely enrich another’s life but sheer presence alone. It was difficult to perceive that Frank Miller was capable of affecting anyone on such a level when one first met him. Certainly, Miranda had not considered him impressive when Bryan first introduced them. However, by the end of the night of that first meeting, she had this odd sensation in the pit of her soul that this man she would spend the rest of her life with.

Unlike his brother Bryan whom Miranda had known first, Frank was somewhat reserved in social situations and found it difficult to command a room in the manner his brother found so easy. However, what he did have was a quiet strength about him, a sense of dependability made others turn to him in times of crisis and this was further supported by the steel in his nature that he concealed well from those around him. She knew perfectly well that if he needed to take command of a situation he would rise to the occasion perfectly and do so with such subtlety that one would not know they were being led until they was already a follower.

They had met six months after the most harrowing assignment of her career. Miranda had been an operative working for the Intelligence and Security Company, an organization whose primary goal was the surveillance and intelligence gathering of Irish Republican groups. She had been recruited out of university and one of the qualifying necessities for such risk work was training in the SAS. Officially, the SAS had no women on its combat teams. However, training them was another matter entirely. The SAS training regimen was more brutal than the US Navy Seals and their reputation for being the fighting elite was not underserved. Out of the dozen or more women that subjected themselves to this backbreaking instruction, Miranda was one of only three that had survived its duration.

Despite the chauvinism that infected the rest of the military establishment in terms of female officers, the atmosphere in the SAS and the Intelligence community was very different indeed. Women were expected to be just as qualified as men even if they were not combat operatives. By the time her training was completed, she was more than capable of walking into a war zone alongside any SAS soldier and hold her own in a fight. She knew how to kill and she knew how to avoid being killed. Above all else, the training had taught her the necessity of survival under any circumstances. She learnt to force away emotions, to bury them in deep dark place within herself so they would not interfere with the mission. Everything she was before the service had been whittled away in favor of this doctrine.

It was during her last assignment that Miranda had met Bryan. He was the contact to whom Miranda would deliver her report on the activities of the particular Irish Republican member she had been assigned to for the previous six months. It should have been the matter of simplex exchange, a routine task carried out a dozen times before without incident. Unfortunately, an informer had tipped off the IRA about the transaction and during their meeting, she and Bryan were abducted and driven to a secluded location for interrogation. It was difficult to say who bore the worst of it because they were both subjected to the same torture. However, it was not Bryan they raped.

Miranda did not think about it. Even during the ordeal, she had had shunted aside the experience because in her mind, it was not happening to her. It was happening to the persona she had cultivated to trick the enemy for the past year. In the service, the instructors had prepared them for rape as much as one could prepare anyone for such an ordeal. For female operatives, it was always a possibility and when it happened to Miranda, she bore it the best she could. She even used it to escape. They thought they had beaten her when the violated her body, they did not. Once it was done, she pushed away the memories and continued the business of surviving. Ironically it was during this episode she was able to escape and reach Bryan. Together, they walked out of there alive and left a lot of bodies in their wake.

Miranda was put on leave as soon as she returned. Although she wanted to go back to work immediately, the Firm’s doctor’s thought otherwise. Perhaps they knew better than she did that eventually what happened in Belfast would return to haunt her, despite her best efforts to suppress the memory. For her part, she had tried admirably to pretend that nothing had happened, unaware that she was self-destructing before the eyes of everyone who knew her. In her solitude, she began to learn that her work had taken the place of everything else in her life. It sent her spiraling into depression and with Miranda realized that one day she had looked at her gun and saw it as the answer problem.

She had sat there in her apartment, shell shocked that the thought had crossed her mind and came to the conclusion that this was what the doctors had feared. Miranda knew the reality of the situation. Agents of her level could not function with that kind of stain on their record. For what they were required to do, any small mental defect could very quickly escalate and compromise the lives of others. The Firm simply would not risk it. Sensing that they were about to put her on indefinite leave, a prelude to something more permanent, Miranda had slipped further into depression, convinced her career was over and having no idea how to function without it. 

When Bryan Miller appeared at her doorstep, he was the last person she wanted to see. Bryan had been there, he had heard every tortured cry and knew perfectly what they had done to her even if he was not in the room while it was taking place. Part of her ability to cope with her ordeal was the fact that most people were reluctant to discuss it with her because they could not imagine what it was like. Bryan however could, he was there and unfortunately for sheer stubbornness, Bryan was more than a match for Miranda when he set his mind to things. When he knocked her door, he was determined to save her from herself and he had enough will to ensure that she accepted his help whether or not she wanted it.

Despite her protests, Bryan refused to take no for an answer when he invited her out for a drink that night. Fortunately, they had both seen far too much of each other’s darker side to ever turn to one another other in any romantic fashion. She considered him a friend even if he was a stubborn bastard who would not leave well enough alone. She had accepted mainly to appease him and joined Bryan when he went to meet his brother, who had just returned to London after traveling in Africa. She had not expected anything from the evening except, for maybe Bryan getting drunk and she having to ensure that he did not get into too much trouble. Like all Yorkshire men, he loved his pub brawls.

Miranda could not say it was love at first sight but something about Frank intrigued her. His quiet manner, so contrasting in comparison to Bryan’s, was almost charming. He was soft spoken, sympathetic and not at all intrusive. Like his brother, his blue eyes saw a great deal but he was even more subtle about it than Bryan, who was an operative trained for such observations. For Frank, it was not a vocational requirement but rather a fact of life. As an archaeologist, he had to see past the surface to find the truth hidden beneath some very fragmentary clues. The first time she met him, Miranda had the impression he saw her a riddle he had to solve. However, he did so with the delicacy of an archaeologist unearthing the find of a lifetime; with patience and care.

Whether or not Bryan was taking a turn playing matchmaker, Miranda would never know because Bryan was wickedly closed mouthed about it. The bastard. However, he did not seem to mind when Frank offered to take her home as if she were a teenager and he was her date. At her door, Frank did not even ask to be invited in. He stood at her doorway, telling Miranda he had a wonderful time, and asking her if he could call her the next day. It was to Miranda’s surprise that she found herself wanting to see him again and telling him that she would like that very much. After he had gone, Miranda had closed her door with the oddest sensation that her life had reached a watershed and was about to take a very unexpected turn.

Frank remained in London for two months and they saw each other virtually every other day. It was not easy to know him and in that, they had something in common. Their relationship was almost an exploration of each other souls and though she did not tell him what had happened to her in Belfast, she noted he did not probe deeply into the reasons for her departure from the service. Miranda doubted that Bryan would have told him the truth because it was a Firm matter and its operatives were not in the habit of discussing it even with family members even if they weren’t bound by the Official Secrets Act.

In any case, he was always content to let her set the pace for their relationship. He did not kiss her until he was certain she was comfortable with the intimacy and even so, he was more than willing to pull back when he sensed any anxiety on her part. Miranda believed he knew that she had been raped but he spared her the pain of having to tell him outright and for that it was so very easy to fall in love with him. When he told her two months later that he was a part of a research team bound for Tanzania, Miranda was dismayed by the idea that he would be gone. The very thought that she would not see him left this void inside her soul that astonished Miranda by its intensity. All her life, she had told herself that she would not be one of those women who would be satisfied with being just a wife. However, when she thought of Frank walking out of her life, she could think being nothing else to remain at his side.

When he left England, Miranda went with him. 

She never regretted the decision and being a wife and subsequently a mother had its own rewards. The first time she looked into Sam’s face, she had wept from the sheer emotion of it. Suddenly the world had ceased to be this enormous place and had contracted into the tiny bundle in her arms for which there was no ugliness or brutality. In the midst of all the death she had seen, the blood she was capable of spilling, knowing this life that had come from her had restored Miranda’s faith in herself. Her life was not simply about surviving the next day, it was about creating life, about nurturing it and ensuring that her children would never know the things she had seen.

Sam had been all that for her and while she loved both her sons equally, Miranda had to confess that she had a deeper connection with her first born. He seemed the more grounded of her two children while Philip or Pip, as he was called by his parents, was a dreamer like his father. Sam was determined, headstrong and practical, qualities Frank had repeatedly told him he acquired from his mother, while Pip loved books and was a sweet natured child who only had to smile to melt his mother’s heart.

When the demons of Miranda Miller’s chose to make a reappearance, it was her love for her family that gave her the strength to crush them into submission again. The past was an unfortunate reminder of the person she had been, the person who had died forever when she became a wife and a mother.

It was a sacrifice Miranda was more than happy to make.

***********

 

“So we now know that despite Boule’s view on the Neanderthal being an inferior member of the hominid family, an opinion he formed because the fossils he examined belonged to an elderly person, was far from the truth. In fact, the Neanderthals were a highly successful species with a larger cranium capacity than modern humans. Their bones were thick indicating a powerful musculature and they lived within a tight knit social structure. They were able hunters with exceptional knowledge of the prey they hunted since many of their fossilized remains reveal evidence of injuries sustained by animal attack, most likely when they got too close. Imagine the injuries you would get hunting mammoth? In any case, this should gives us a healthy respect for them.”

Frank Miller swept his gaze across the classroom as he concluded his lecture and was gratified to see that most of his students were actually listening. A good portion were staring at him in anticipation, waiting for him to add further comments while others were scribbling furiously into their note pads, attempting to condense his lecture into a series of concise paragraphs. A few had started shifting in their seats, an indication that they were aware that the class was drawing to a close, their eyes stealing glances at the clock as they listened to him speak.

Frank could not blame them for wanting an escape from this room. He had been teaching at the University of Oslo for the past six months and even though the posting was pleasant enough, he missed the excitement of on site fieldwork. He wondered what they would think if they knew that he wanted to leave the room as much as they did

“I am preparing a test for early next week so I recommend that you study chapters five and six of the text. How you do in this test will greatly influence the selection process for those who are signing up for summer fieldwork with me. Now, if you would please leave my classroom, I need to recover after the ordeal of teaching all of you. Dismissed.”

His comment drew a ripple of laughter throughout the student body present and he flashed them a smile in case some of his less astute pupils were unaware he was joking. Frank could not deny that despite his ambivalence in accepting a teaching position, there was some satisfaction in knowing that he was shaping the minds of future archaeologists. Retreating behind his desk, he lowered himself into his seat as the exodus out of his classroom began. The shuffling of feet and closing of books filled the room for a few moments, as well as a chorus of good evening’s from the departing student body. 

Frank had been dubious about his ability to teach a class in Oslo because of the language barrier but the Dean had been very convincing when he approached Frank about accepting the position. He was a leading paleoanthropologist in the field and there were more than enough English speaking students in the university to warrant his position. Normally Frank would have refused the offer as he had done so many in the past but it was one simple fact that had forced him to take the job to his regret; his family. As well as being an archaeologist, he was a husband and a father and his chosen profession had ensured his family would never quite have the normal life. When he thought about the situations he had subjected Miranda and the kids during in the past few years, Frank decided for once he was going to make a decision on his career that would benefit them all.

God knows he had put Miranda through enough ordeals during their nine-year marriage. He had been on a site in Tanzania when she was pregnant with Sammie and despite all her bravado when it came time to deliver, Frank knew she was scared. All the training in the service had not prepared her for the watershed of being a mother, the onset which was the actually birth of the child. It had not helped matters that they were fifty miles from the nearest hospital and Sammie had decided to arrive a fortnight earlier than he was expected. It was a pattern repeated over the years where Miranda was forced to make their family life somewhat tolerable, usually in the middle of a desert or some African Savannah where the fossil hunting was good. She never complained and the kids seemed to enjoy their nomadic lifestyle but of late Frank had started to think that perhaps they deserved better. 

Miranda deserved to be in a place where there was running water and proper plumbing; she deserved to be near a supermarket or in easy reach of a doctor’s office. She needed to be able to go get a pedicure or whatever it was that women did in salons every now and again and she deserved to be taken to dinner once in awhile and be lavished with attention by her husband. When he had accepted the position in Olso, it was so that she would have all these things because she had never complained once in all their years of marriage that his work was depriving her and the kids of a normal life.

Frank’s love for his wife was more than he was able to describe. When she entered his life so unexpectedly, he had thought she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. His golden haired goddess, he thought privately to himself. Bryan had warned him that she had been hurt and Frank knew his brother well enough to know that if Bryan was asking him to thread with caution, then there was a good reason for it. Frank knew his brother enough to know that Bryan’s perception of danger was probably ten bars above everyone else’s. There was little that could shade his brother’s cynical demeanor so Frank had paid attention when Bryan had told him that the woman they were meeting tonight needed to be handle with care.

Bryan had said nothing else about what had happened to Miranda when they had first met, however, it did not take any great feat of intelligence to discern what had happened to her. During their first encounter, he noted the way she would flinch if anyone brushed past her, or if a waiter stood too close at the table. He saw the cloud in those amazing green eyes and knew that despite being injured with Bryan in the same mission, whatever it was, more had been done to her. He could tell because these things were not lost upon Bryan and with each reaction, Frank saw the tiny slivers of guilt stealing into his brother’s eyes at being unable to stop any of it.

For Frank, even if what he suspected was the truth, it mattered little. He had fallen in love with her the moment he laid eyes on her and wanted nothing more than to take away that sadness in that lovely face. For the next two months, he worked hard to gain her trust, not an easy thing to do because the service had given her the same hard edge that he had become accustomed to seeing in his brother. Fortunately, that also meant that Frank had some idea of how to deal with it. When he asked her to marry him at the end of those two months, he dared not hope that she would accept but he could not leave England without at least trying. He did not think he could be quite as happy as he was the day she accepted his proposal.

They married less than a week later with Bryan grinning ear to ear like some deranged Cheshire cat, so much so that Frank was forced to remind his older brother that he knew many interesting women in academia that he would be happy to give his brother’s number. For a man who was probably a secret agent for all Frank knew, Bryan had a yellow streak a mile wide when it came to things like commitment. If Bryan ever found a woman who could capture his heart, Frank was certain to send her his sympathies and a condolence card.

His ruminations came to a halt when he heard footsteps. Lifting his head, Frank saw the approach of Professor Hans Skogen, the man who had offered him this job in the first place. Frank had met Hans at a symposium some years ago and though they had never worked together, had developed an instant rapport, which they maintained through letters and electronic correspondences over the years. Hans had been thrilled when Frank had accepted the position to play substitute for one of his staff members who was presently in an expedition to Iceland. An elderly man with snow white hair and a rather leathery face, Hans’ skin showed signs of someone who had spent his youth in the outdoors. From the papers he had written on Saharan pastrolists, Frank knew that someone who had done extensive fieldwork could only accumulate such data.

As he approached, Frank knew immediately something was wrong. Hans seemed older and his eyes filled the shadow of some dark news.

“Is something wrong Professor?” Frank asked immediately. No matter how long they had known each other, Frank could not help calling him by his title. It seemed so rude referring to such a brilliant mind in so forward a manner.

“I have just received news from Hveravellir,” Hans said somewhat dazed as he lowered himself into one of the vacant seats in the classroom, “there’s been some sort of accident. The entire excavation team was killed.”

“Killed?” Frank exclaimed horrified. He knew some of those researchers, Gunther Nilsen, Freya Seljelid to name a few. “How?”

“They think its cave in,” Hans replied, appearing as if he could not quite believe the news. It was understandable, the man whose job Frank was presently occupying was a good friend. “It is difficult to say because they cannot reach the bodies. All their vehicles were recovered over the excavation site. It was clear they never emerged from the caldera to the surface. It will take months if at all, before any effort can be made to reach the bodies.”

“Is it possible that they could still be alive?” Frank asked, becoming just as stunned by the news as Hans.

“The chasm is completely sealed. It appears as if the sides just gave way and collapsed upon itself. I don’t understand it, the Glacier was cleared of any instability and if the event of a seismic disturbance, they had more than enough equipment to predict an episode long before it took place.”

“What do the Icelandic authorities say?” Frank inquired, unable to process such a loss. Such accidents were not uncommon but to lose an entire team was still a terrible tragedy, no matter how one tried to rationalize it.

“They could tell me very little except that they would try and send teams to recover the bodies if possible, however, considering they were more than a mile deep, that makes any such effort problematic at best.”

“Yes,” Frank nodded in agreement. “Petra Tebben’s research indicated that they would have to go to some depths to recover their samples.”

“You know her research?” Hans met his gaze.

“Only from what she has published,” Frank offered. When he had first arrived here, he had taken an off hand interest in what had caused his predecessor, Richard Ahlgren, to join the Icelandic expedition. “It’s very speculative and there isn’t a great deal of evidence to support her theories. I am rather surprised that she found funding actually, considering how difficult it is to find grants for archeology these days.”

“The last I heard from Richard,” Hans added, “was that they had found something in the ice using magnetic prospecting.”

“I hear that’s providing some amazing finds,” Frank replied, knowing something of the method of prospecting that allowed objects deep in the dirt to be discovered thanks to the differing magnetic resonance in each sedimentary layer of earth. “Did he say what it was?”

“No,” Hans shook his head, “but it was meant to be justify their reason for being there.”

Hans lapsed into silence again and Frank could see that the news had impacted badly on the Professor. The old man had known many of the people on the excavation team and while Frank mourned them also, he did not have the same emotional connection as Hans. The Professor seemed frailer in the light of this terrible news and prompted Frank into leaving his desk and crossing the floor.

“Why don’t you come home with me tonight,” Frank offered. “You haven’t seen the boys in weeks and we can have dinner.”

“I thought you said your wife is not a good cook,” Hans reminded.

Hans had a point. For all the wonderful things that Miranda could do, cooking simply was not one of them.

“Good point. We’ll order out.”

************  
Sam Miller wiped the blood from his nose.

He could hear Pip crying in the distance. He looked up from the ground that he had landed upon and saw Aksel staring at him with a triumphant sneer on his face. The boy was a year older than Sam was but he was bigger than most and unafraid to use his size to intimidate younger children. Boys like Aksel never did their bullying alone, a fact that Sam was beginning to learn as he saw Aksel’s friends, Trigve and Nils flanking him. He stared at them for a minute, his anger rising inside his young body in heated waves of fury, trying to decide how he was going to take all three of them without them beating him senseless.

And then turning their attention to Pip again.

Since their arrival at the St. Sunniva School, an expensive private school that fortunately for them had a strong English speaking body of teachers and students, Pip had become Aksel’s favorite target. It did not help that Pip was small for his age and that he did not go to the primary school like Sam but rather the non-compulsory kindergarten classes. After years of being tutored by either parent owing to the remote locations of his father’s archaeology digs, coming to a proper school with other children their age had been something the boys had looked forward to and for most part, it was everything they dreamed it would be.  
Aksel was Sam’s first encounter with a bully and despite his lack of experience in dealing with such situations, had come to decide very quickly that he did not appreciate being intimidated and disliked it even more when it was his brother being subjected to it. Aksel had targeted his brother for no other reason than Pip was too small too stop him from stealing his lunch money, which was not to say much but Sam sensed it was not the money, it was the power. His mother had often said that it was not the hurting that bad people like to indulge in but rather the sense of power it gave them over others. Sam was not about to put up with that in any shape of form.

“What are you doing English boy,” Aksel asked gloating. “Cry like your baby brother?”

Sam raised his eyes to the three faces before him, feeling a surge of intense outrage at their triumphant bragging. It hurt more the pain pulsing from his nose, more than cheek scraped across the concrete. Sam stood up and glanced at Pip who was shaking his head silently, perfectly aware that the gleam in his eyes was not defeat.

“Don’t,” Pip said wordlessly but Sam understood him well enough.

Their laughter still ringing in his ears, Sam stood up in the center of the playground, surrounded by other children who were trying to decide what he would do but registered nothing but Aksel. His companions did not matter. They lacked the backbone to bully anyone on their own. No, it was Aksel that influenced their behavior, Aksel that needed dealing with. Without giving them any warning, Sam ran forward and grabbed the leader in a full body tackle that toppled them both to the concrete. The two children slammed hard into the floor, Aksel taking the worst of it because he was beneath Sam. The older boy’s head hit the hard surface with a whack and uttered a cry of pain as he did so.

In seconds, Sam was certain that Aksel’s friends would leap into the fray and shift the odds in the favor of the bully once more, but before that happened, he intended to make those few seconds count. Pummeling the older boy with his fists, Sam was relentless and determined. He struck Aksel a few times that had been too dazed to fight back and was still kicking when Trigve and Nil dragged him away.

“You’re going to pay for that!” Aksel grunted a minute later, his eye sporting a dark bruise and his lip was split and bleeding.

“Yeah come on and fight me now!” Sam shouted. “You’re too chicken to fight fair!”

The words were perfectly understood by the children watching and Sam saw Aksel stiffening with rage, not because of Sam’s words but because they might believe it was true. Sam could tell that Aksel was rather stunned by the ferocity of Sam’s efforts to defend his brother and if this were not so public an arena, might have withdrawn but even if he was nine, he was suffering that most debilitating of afflictions, masculine pride.

He took a step forward and Sam was certain he was going to lose teeth when suddenly, he saw Pip’s face brighten with relief. His brother was in tears but had stopped crying suddenly. The children watching this after school fight had started to dissipate and even the three schoolyard bullies who had been the cause of all this had reason to withdraw.

“What the bloody hell is going on here!”

Sam felt his breath escape him in relief. It was mum.

Aksel was really in trouble now.

“Mum!” Sam saw his mother striding across the playground. Her eyes scanned the situation and he knew by the look in her eyes, that she was perfectly aware of what was going on. The other children had started to scatter, not wishing to become embroiled in this affair now that there were parents were being involved. Even Trigve and Nils had decided that it was time to leave and had released him quickly. Aksel had started to run but before he could escape Miranda had reached out and caught him by the arm with surprising speed.

“Let me go!”

“Not until we have a few words young man,” Miranda said staring at him hard.

She saw her Sam with his nose bleeding, his upper lips smeared in crimson as was the scrape that ran from his temple to his jaw line. It took all her control to remain calm and even more so to remember that she was dealing with another child. Pip had dried his eyes and was looking intensely pleased at her arrival and she had no heart to be stern with the child, giving him a little wink that produced that heart melting smile across his face. 

“Mum its alright,” Sam said wiping his nose again when a fresh rivulet of blood ran down his nose again. “I’m okay.”

“Wait in the car,” she said glancing over her shoulder at the road where their four wheel drive was parked.

“Sam didn’t do anything...” Pip started to say but Miranda cut him off firmly but not harshly.

“Philip, Samuel...WAIT FOR ME IN THE CAR.”

The boys knew her tone well. That was the tone of voice she used when she wanted to argument and they had seen her employ it enough times that even their father was reluctant to object when she made a demand with that particular intensity behind it.

“Alright, but he’s just a bully mum.” Sam nodded feeling a little sorry for Aksel even if he was a men kid. “

“You rotten squealer!” Aksel shouted viciously as the two boys walked away to the car.

Miranda waited until her sons had crossed the playground and disappeared behind the trees into the car when she turned back to their tormentor. The young man in her grip looked unrepentant. He probably thought she was going to give him a stern talking to and warn him that she would call his parents if he did not behave. Miranda had dealt with his kind all her life, in and out of the service. She was exceedingly proud at Sam for standing his ground. She knew her son well. He did not accept intimidation well. Frank had once told her that Sam must have inherited that trait from her but it was not so, if Sam had acquired that from anywhere, it was from Bryan. 

“What’s so your name?” Miranda asked the child, this nine year old who was probably going to grow up to be just as nasty in his adult years as he was in childhood. Boys like this never learned the important lessons until later in life, when they were standing in the wreckage of their lives that they had no control in shaping because their parents had never taught them the most important thing in life. There were always bigger bullies.

“Aksel Aarset,” he replied scornfully, “you going to call my father now and tell him what a wimp Sam is?”

Miranda smiled and decided this boy was going to be quite the charmer until the first time someone took offense and broke every bone in that smart mouth of his. If he were older, she would have obliged him. However, she was a mother and she had deal with things differently.

“No,” Miranda shook her head. “I have some idea how your father will react. Chances are fairly good that you are the way you are because of him. He’s probably a bully too so I shall probably be wasting my time. However, I will not have you terrorizing my children, either of them.”

“What are you going to? Come to school and hold their hand?”

“No,” she twisted his arm so sharply that he could not ignore the pain even if Miranda was careful not to leave marks. “I will break every damn bone in your hand.”

“I will tell my father...” the boy exclaimed his face turning into a grimace of pain as he saw the menacing gleam in her eye.

“Fine,” Miranda said coldly, “and then I’ll break the other one. Don’t assume anything when it comes to me boy. You’ll be surprised how much I can get away with if I tell the police that you were terrorizing my children. I’m a mother after all. I can’t be responsible for that I do when my children are being hurt. I shall take my Sam to the doctor and have his nose fixed so anyone who comes looking for me will know you did that to him. Do we understand each other?” She twisted just enough so that he was squirming again.

Tears were running down the boy’s face, not from the pain but from the threat in her eyes. He may have been nine but he was perceptive enough to recognize that the threat was real. She was not wrong, he had bullied many children in school. His father was proud of him for being so strong but the headmaster was in possession of a thick file of complaints, complaints that usually required another hefty donation from his family to make disappear. Most of the other parents were content to remove their children from the school but Sam’s mother did not appear to be one of these. He did not doubt that she would hurt him and he did not doubt that if he told his father, it would only end up worse for him.

“Okay!” The boy replied, feeling his lip quiver as the tears began to come, humiliating stream of moisture running down his flush cheeks. “I won’t come near them again.”

“Good,” she smiled, releasing him. He staggered back, clutching his arm. “I’m glad we had this little,” she said straightening up and looking down at him, her stare hard and naked with dislike. “Do yourself a favor and stop being a bully. One day, you will find someone who is even less forgiving than I am.”

 

*************

“Let me look,” Miranda ordered when she returned to the car and found Sam holding his nose with a blood soaked tissue.

“It hurts,” Sam whined, forgetting all about his earlier bravado and enjoying his mother’s attention. “I know it’s broken. It feel like it’s broken. My nose will look like the guy from Rush Hour.”

Miranda rolled her eyes, “no I don’t think you’re quite ready to match Owen Wilson the broken nose contest yet,” she smiled as she examined him in the backseat of their Cherokee Jeep.

“He was so brave mum,” Pip said excitedly, “Sam was like a footy player, he just ran into Aksel and put him on the ground! It was so cool!”

“I don’t think your father is going to like you using your fists to solve your problems Sam,” Miranda replied, wondering if she was not a touch hypocritical after her exchange with the young man in question.

“He was beating on Pip,” Sam grumbled, “I won’t let anyone hurt my brother.”

Miranda stifled a smile, feeling her inside warms with love for this little scraper that was her son. “You were very brave,” she replied planting a little kiss on his forehead, “now let’s go home and fix up that nose. We’ll think of something to tell your father.”

***********

For the twin sons of Elrond Peredhill, Elladan and Elrohir felt as if they were on a journey of discovery.

During their first visit to Arda a hundred thousand years after leaving its shores, there had been little time to see anything. They had come to Arda to find Olorin on that occasion and the world they had found was so alien, that it had been effort enough to move through it without drawing suspicion let alone find their lost friend. If it were not for the chance encounter with Eve McCaughley, the human reincarnation of their sister, Arwen Undomiel, it was likely that they would have never succeeded in bringing Olorin home or bringing to the attention of the Valar, the return of Morgoth to Arda.

However with Manwe’s momentous announcement following the wedding of Eve to Aaron, the reincarnation of Aragorn Elessar, they were not the only elves to have departed Valinor in the past six months. Though the numbers were still small, a handful of elves had been crossing the sea in their grey ships to see the changes that had taken about in Arda and experienced the wonders of the modern world for themselves. The Teleri were gleefully building ships again, trying to fashion their constructs with some of the techniques that Aaron had brought with him when the human returned to Valinor the second time. Apparently, aside from their mission to save the world from Sauron, the healer had been given an extensive list of reading material to bring home and though Cirdan was still dubious about ships being made wholly from steel, the master shipbuilder was open to learning something about modern shipbuilding.

For Elladan and Elrohir who were disappointed that they were not allowed to cross the sea when Aaron had gone to face Sauron’s reincarnation, this journey was one of discovery. The twins had always shared a love of exploration and there was no greater unknown at the moment then the modern world. Their last visit had provided little opportunity to really see it and on this journey, they had intended to rectify situation. Arriving in Eriador or England as it was now called, they had journeyed through its length in less than a day, crossing distances that only Gwaihir would have been capable of back in the day. The humans of Valinor had been very specific in their lessons to the elves making the crossing over the Western Sea. They were schooled in how to behave how to remain inconspicuous and so forth. Bryan had told them who to see in the great city of London to acquire travelling papers, for it was not simply possible to enter a country without first being stopped at its borders.

They had learnt how to speak and read English with far more swiftness than the humans believed possibly. However since it was the elves who taught all the other races to speak, the First Born had a far greater aptitude for learning languages quickly than any others. .


	4. Pursuit

Jason stared at the artifact inside their hotel room in Fludir.

It was not the first time Jason had found himself doing this since the artifact had come into his possession, or precisely since he had liberated it from the excavation site amidst the violence that had almost cost their lives. Despite being able to see only a small portion of the object that remained largely encased in its fossilized shell, Jason thought it was still beautiful. He found himself becoming lost in the facets of crimson and knew subconsciously that even though it appeared to be a ruby; it had not always been so. Years of entombment had dulled its beauty, turned it into something forgotten and dark. This potent belief remained in Jason’s mind and would not be denied no matter what his eyes were telling him.

Those men, no, those things, had wanted this.

They had killed for it. Eric’s interest in the object went no further than why it was important enough to cost the lives of Petra Tebben and her colleagues. However, there was something gnawing away in the pit of Jason’s stomach that told him that the artifact was far more important than they could possibly imagine. Petra Tebben was right about this being the find of a lifetime but for reasons Jason could not explain, he knew it was not in the way she envisioned.

He had not told Eric about what he had seen, how his struggles to free himself from one of the team’s killers had yielded the discovery of those terrible red eyes and led him to the realization that what had almost taken his life, was not human. He could not bring himself to tell Eric because the journalist would tell him he was insane. Jason was not that far from thinking it himself. So much of what had happened in the last twenty-four hours had seemed incredible even for one whom had traveled the world and seen some rather astonishing things in his short lifetime. When they had emerged from the mouth of the dormant volcano, Eric and Jason had done what they could to disable the lift device that had brought them to the surface. They hoped that it would provide the time needed to escape their pursuers. Eric had even gone so far as to sabotage the starter motor in the hydrostatic snow cat that the assailants had used reach the Temple Glacier.

When they reached the station where they had hired their own snow cat, Eric and Jason had discovered the place to be deserted. Although they could find no evidence of bodies, Eric was certain that the assassins of the archaeology team had been here because there was every sign that the station’s inhabitants had made a hasty departure. Whether or not that was that departure included the mortal plane was a question they had little time to ponder since Eric was determined to make it back to civilization and alert the authorities of what had transpired. However, what Eric feared most Jason suspected, even if the older man had not voiced the concern, was the coincidental timing of the assassins’ arrival.

Had they been sent been to steal the artifact from its discoverers or silence the team and the journalists who were about to reveal its existence to the world?

If it was the former and the assassins believed that they were members of the archaeological team who had merely escaped their clutches, then it was possible for Eric and Jason to use the precious time this misconception had afforded them to find a way out of their predicament. However if it were latter, which Eric believed to be the case since the assassins arrived soon after he and Jason, then the enemy knew exactly who they were and would be hunting for them even now.

It was with this concern in mind that Eric had chosen their a small guesthouse fifty miles outside of Fludir, a community south of the Koljur Pass that led to the Temple Glacier and central Iceland as their hiding place. The guesthouse sat in the heart of geothermal activity in the region and was often used by travellers visiting the sights of Gullfoss, Geysir, Hjálparfoss, Háifoss and Þjórsárdalur. They had arrived here in the small hours of the night after ensuring that they had successfully evaded their pursuers. However, Eric was certain that their efforts were at best a temporary measure.

While Eric was contacting the authorities to report what had happened at the Glacier, Jason had opted to remain in the guesthouse in order to glean what they could about the excavation and the scientists who had been so ruthlessly eliminated on the eve of their great discovery. However in truth, he had a more personal research in mind even if it was indirectly related to their present dilemma. Sitting in front of his laptop, Jason began pounding the compact keyboard, typing in the word that had remained with him since the creature with the red eyes had first uttered it.

Periannath.

His search quickly revealed that there was no such word in existence, in any language. He remembered the other thing the man had called him and keyed in the term ‘hobbit’, hoping that this would yield more information than the first request. He supposed he should not have been surprised at having found nothing. That creature’s hatred had sounded so personal when he called Jason that name. Somehow, the key to understanding this entire situation rested with why the enemy believed Jason was familiar to him. The young man could sense the seething rage in the creature’s voice and then there was the demand to reveal what he knew about the so-called shield bitch.

Was she here too?

Who was the ‘she’ he was referring to? Why did he seem to think Jason would know?

After a frustrating search that availed him nothing, Jason decided to dedicate his time to learning what he could about the archaeological team and in particular, their backgrounds. It was their expertise that had unearthed the artifact and now that they were gone, he and Jason would have to find someone else who might be able to provide the answers they needed. Unfortunately, the file containing their assignment did not include the names of the researchers leading Jason to suppose that if Malcolm Industries were funding the research, then it was likely that they would know who was on their payroll. Using his cell phone, which typically had been out of service at the Glacier when it was most needed, Jason telephoned the company’s office in Reykjavik from the telephone number he had found on their corporate website.

Surprisingly enough, Malcolm Industries had been most accommodating. While it had required Jason to endure a ten-minute ordeal of being placed on hold before being transferred to the appropriate department and then finally to someone who could actually answer his request, they were nevertheless, helpful. They company confirmed that the grant to Petra Tebben had been terminated almost a year ago but fortunately they were still in possession of the information he required. Information, they would be more than happy to email to him if he so desired. The list of researchers on the excavation team arrived a few minutes later by email and allowed Jason to see that most of Petra Tebben’s staff had originated from the University of Oslo. Tebben herself had been a student of Professor Hans Skogen, the Head of the Paleoanthropology Department.

Perhaps Professor Skogen may have some ideas as to what the artifact was.

Jason was in the process of ruminating on this point when Eric returned to their room, his expression grim.

"I don’t bloody believe!" Eric snapped in anger and frustration as soon as the door closed behind him.

"What?" Jason, understandably concerned, asked rising from his seat.

"I called the Icelandic authorities," Eric replied taking a deep breath to calm himself, still unable to wrap his mind around what he had been told. It was so unbelievable and stomach turning that Eric could barely contain his disgust and his exasperation. "I told them what happened, that an execution squad had just murdered the entire archaeology team in the Glacier."

"They didn’t believe you?" Jason blurted out before he could finish.

"It wasn’t that they didn’t believe me, there’s just no way to collaborate my story since the entire glacier collapsed in on itself shortly after we left. Everything is buried under tons of snow. Since the archeology team is almost a mile deep beneath the chasm, there’s no way they’re going to be able to learn the truth until someone burrows through all that snow to reach the bodies."

"How they hell could they have managed that?" Jason exclaimed, completely sympathetic to Eric’s shock.

"They blew up the damn glacier!" Eric exclaimed, "they blew it up so no one would know."

"Except us," Jason replied, realizing why Eric was so concerned. "Except us," Eric nodded with a hard edge to his voice that emphasized the urgency of their predicament. "We have to get out of here. We have to get out of the country and head back to Oz. Once we’re there, we’ll sort it out on familiar territory."

"Eric, I’ve been thinking," Jason said quickly, not entirely agreeing if this was the best course. "Maybe we should find out about where this artifact comes from. I think we both know agree, its what those guys were after."

"Jason, you don’t understand, if they were willing to blow up a national treasure to cover their tracks that means they’re hunting us, even now. We’re the only ones who know what happened. We have to get to this print. I’d call in the story but we have no corroborating proof. Exposing these people is the only thing that will keep us alive."

"It’s just that most of the archaeological team, even Petra Tebben comes from Norway. Most of them worked for a Professor Skogen in the University of Oslo. If we take the artifact to him we might be able to work out what it is?""How would you know that?" Eric stared at him sharply, an uneasy feeling rising up inside of him like bile. "That information wasn’t in the file."

"I rang up Malcolm Industries office in Reykjavik," the younger man explained.

"You called them? Using your mobile?" The Australian almost shouted.

"Yeah," Jason nodded, wondering why the alarm.

"Jesus Chris Jason!" Eric shouted in astonishment and shock, "didn’t I teach you better than that? Malcolm Industries are most likely the bastards who sent those killers after the team!"

Jason stared at Eric dumbfounded, too stunned to respond. However, even as he stared at Eric, his mind was already processing the pieces now that Eric had brought to light the allegation. Of course, it made perfect sense and upon reaching that conclusion, it did not take long to realize the monumental mistake he had made.

"Oh hell," Jason muttered. "I’m sorry, I didn’t think…"

"We’ll bloody well talk about this later," Eric bit back; aware that he was harsh but felt he was justified under the circumstances. "Right now we need to pack up our gear and get the hell out of here before anyone finds us."

Still too horrified by the implications of what he had wrought upon then, Jason was more or less muted with silence as he hurried to pack their things away for a hasty departure. It had never occurred to him that those killers might have been sent by Malcolm Industries because of what he had seen of their true nature. The idea that a corporation might be employing supernatural creatures to do their bidding was so absurd that Jason had hardly given it thought. However, Eric was not aware of what he knew and was able to think in more realistic terms. He was right. If indeed they were the impetus for the arrival of the assassins to dispatch the excavation team, then Malcolm Industries must have learnt that Petra Tebben had gone behind their backs to the media and moved to act accordingly.

They probably traced the call when he was on hold.

Jason could not believe his stupidity but Eric was right, they had no time to deal with it at this time. He had a feeling that Eric would rake him over the coals if they got out of here in one piece and at the moment, Jason was inclined to think that Eric was completely justified in doing so.

"Are the authorities even going to investigate?" Jason asked as he saw Eric hastily picking up his clothes and shoving them into a travel bag.

"They’ll make some inquiries but the fact of the matter is, we can’t even offer a description of the men that murdered those people so they don’t have much to go on."

"What about the connection to Malcolm Industries?" he asked somewhat meekly.

Eric straightened up and met his gaze, "we don’t have proof of that either but it makes sense. No one else stood to gain by killing the team and it’s too much of a coincidence that they arrived just after we did. Chances are they had some idea of what Tebben stumbled upon. She thought it was a new source of power. Can you imagine the dollar value attached to that? They probably thought killing her was the only way to protect the sanctity of their product."

 

Jason held a deep breath and released it knowing there was more to this situation than just the money, "Eric, there’s something I need to tell you."

"Save it," Eric brushed past him as he headed towards the bathroom to gather up what belongings remained there. "You can save the apologies for later after I’ve kicked your bloody arse for doing something so stupid. You’re not a professional newsman, use your head and think!"

"I wasn’t going to apologize," Jason muttered, his face flushed with embarrassment.

"You bloody well ought to!" Eric shouted from the bathroom.

"ERIC I DON’T THINK THEY"RE HUMAN!"

There was silence following that statement as Jason waited with abated breath for Eric’s response. It had gone dead quiet in the bathroom and it was a few seconds later that the silence was broken by Eric’s footsteps back into the room.

"What did you say?" The journalist stared at his younger counterpart, certain that he was mistaken at what he had heard.

"When he had me, I took a swing at him," Jason said quietly, wishing he had not spoken but Eric’s vehement response had provoked him into spilling the truth. "I didn’t hurt him or anything but I did knock those sunglasses off his face. Eric, they were wearing masks, all of them. Pasty white masks, the kind that Michael in Halloween wears and his eyes, he had glowing red eyes. I think the masks hide what they are because they’re not human."

"Red eyes?" Eric stared at him, wondering if Jason had not lost his mind as well as his sense.

"Red eyes with no irises, just a red glowing eyeballs," Jason swallowed, "I’ve never been so scared in my life."

"Look he hit you pretty bad," Eric started to say, unable to conceive that what Jason was claiming could be true. He was a journalist used to hard facts. The evidence spoke for itself far more reliably than the words of men. Jason was perhaps his best friend but he could not ignore the insanity of what the younger man was alleging. "Maybe you imagined it."

"I didn’t imagine it!" Jason barked back in exasperation. "I saw his eyes. Didn’t you think it strange that when you hit them with that helmet thing, it sizzled? You saw it Eric! You saw how they were dressed. No one turns up to an ice cave in the middle of Iceland in Armani, I don’t care how well tailored it is. The cold didn’t affect them. All of us had vapor coming out of our mouths with each breath we took. When that thing held me up to him and was hissing, I saw nothing. It was like he didn’t even have a breath or perhaps he wasn’t even alive."

"Jason!" Eric cut him off not wishing to hear any more of this. "Think about what you’re saying."

"I have thought about it and I haven’t stopped since it happened," Jason replied. "Eric you’re a newsman but you’re also the best investigator I have ever seen and as stupid as I was to call Malcolm Industries, you have to admit that there are some things about this that don’t make sense. You’re too sharp to have missed them.

"He was right, Eric admitted begrudgingly. The strange occurrences had not been lost upon him but Eric was too much the cynic to admit the existence of the supernatural. It shook the foundation of his very logical world. There was an explanation for everything, no matter how impossible it may seem outwardly. It only required someone with a nose for research to uncover the truth. Eric had lived by that creed all his life. He relied on it and knew that despite all the ugliness he had seen, in his life, the sanctity of the truth needed to be preserved if the future was to learn anything at all. It would have surprised many too discover that beneath his jaded exterior, Eric was still the idealist he had been when he first put pen to paper.

"We have to go," he said quietly, unable to bring himself to admit that Jason could be right. He could feel the pressure against the reliable walls that was his perception on reality, buckling ever so slightly. Since the artifact had come into his life, nothing was making sense and Eric sensed he was poised over the periphery of something greater than himself. He could feel it and it terrified him.

"We can talk about this later," he declared.

Jason knew that meant precisely the opposite.

Eric was suffering a terrible case of denial but Jason was certain he would overcome it.

The situation left no other alternative.

*************

The Nine were notified within minutes of the phone call made by Jason Merrick to Malcolm Industries.

The news came to them from Irina Sadko who had told Morgul rather pointedly to clean up the mess they had made in the Temple Glacier by allowing the escape of the two journalists. Personally, the Nine did not care who knew about the artifact. It would not change matters much because no presence on this earth could stand in their way when the Nine were on the hunt. Even if the two men were to expose the presence of the artifact to the world, it would make very little difference since there was one left on this earth save themselves and their Master’s woman who knew what it was to begin with. It would be a curiosity that would sear the flesh of any human that attempted to hold it with their bare hands.

The woman however had demanded that the artifact be retrieved and those who were in possession of it to be killed to maintain the secret regarding the true fate of those who had unearth it to begin with. Morgul had no hesitation in carrying out that order even if it were for entirely different reasons. Since the glacier, he who was once the Witch King, felt uneasiness settle into his being. Disquieting emotions felt almost alien to a creature that had believed himself expunged of all things human aeons ago. However, he knew the precise moment it had begun.

The instant he caught sight of the hobbit that had been present at the battle of Pelennor, even the retrieval of the Master seemed to shrink into insignificance.

For the first time in his long existence, since the shadow world had claimed him as one of its own, Morgul was suffused with an entirely human need that differed greatly to the purpose of his brothers. It surged through his phantom veins and filled his mind with such hatred that it was difficult to remember the main reason for retrieving the artifact to begin with.

He wanted vengeance.

Not from just the halfling who had been reborn in human skin but from her.

If the halfing was here then Morgul was certain she was as well. She had been the last thing he had seen during the Battle of Pelennor and he intended to return the favor. Somehow, Morgul was convinced that if he found the human called Jason Merrick, then he would also find her, wherever she was in this lifetime.

The vehicle in which they were travelling approached the lodgings where the telephone call had originated and crawled to a gradual halt after turning off the road. Once they were close enough, they needed no further instructions to reach their quarry.

The power of the jewel radiated outward like a beacon, drawing them like moths to the flame. There was no denying the lure of it to those who understood its significance, the need to touch and possess something that once given light to the world. The woman saw it as a means to the end but she could not appreciate the true power of at her disposal. None of the Nine saw any reason to enlighten her, less she develop the same glimmer in her eyes that had driven so many others to obsession. They needed the jewel to restore their Master who had been perceptive enough to remain free of its lure, although he was not immune to falling under the sway of his creation, much as the jewel had become Feanor’s master in the end. As long as the humans kept it in their possession, the Nine would find them. It was inevitable.

*************

After carrying out what was a fairly impressive effort of fast packing, Eric and Jason hurried out of the guesthouse bound for the driveway where their car was parked. Eric could still think of nothing to say to his young partner and was grateful for the fact that their present crisis allowed him to avoid the issue for the moment. It was not as if he did not wish to discuss the matter, in truth, he knew there would be no avoiding it once they were safely away from here but he needed the time to compose his thoughts.

Jason had seen some rather harrowing things working with him during the past years, enough for Eric to know that he was not prone to delusions during stressful situations. If he had seen red eyes, then Eric believed him without question.

Unfortunately, believing him also meant that Eric would have to open his mind to possibilities he had a great deal of trouble accepting as truth. Being a journalist, he was by definition, the original doubting Thomas and right now, Thomas needed more than Jason’s word that the assassins chasing him were some form of supernatural creatures with glowing red eyes, even if they were dressed inappropriately for Icelandic weather. Eric knew that he was showing classic signs of denial but at the moment his senses needed to be sharp if he was going to extricate both them from this dangerous situation in one piece. He could not do that if he doubted everything he knew about the world.

It was already dark outside since daylight in Iceland during in the latter half of the year lasted briefly. With the half moon peering indifferently at them from the heavens above, they reached the unimpressive Fiat they had been forced to rent at the local rental agency and piled everything into the backseat, including the helm that he had used to subdue the assassin intending to kill Jason. Eric let out a sigh of relief as they prepared to depart because it appeared as if like Jason’s mistake would not cost them as dearly as he had feared. In a matter of minutes, they would be leaving this place behind and anyone who came looking for them would find nothing but a vacant room.

The distant drone of car engines caused Eric to instinctively dig his fingers into his pocket to find the keys. Even though there was nothing unusual about the sound since theirs was one of many guesthouses in the area, the journalist had become somewhat paranoid after Jason’s revelation, the least of that was the fact that their pursuers may not be human. While he was not ready to accept that as fact, Eric knew he did not wish to fall into their hands to find out. He would prefer to make that discovery at minimum safe distance.

The sound attracted Jason too who immediately reached for the door handle and climb into the car. Eric felt the familiar ridge of steel inside his jeans pocket and pulled out the set of keys just as the twin strobes of headlights exploded in his eyes. He flinched and blinked trying to clear the blur of dark spot that appeared as his retinas were overloaded with too much light. Jason was already in the car as Eric raised a hand to shield his eyes when suddenly, he heard the younger man shout.

"Get in the bloody car!"

When he retained some semblance of normal vision, Eric understood why. The long black car, a Jaguar or BMW, he could not tell because its badge was too far away to be discerned came to a halt with one door swinging open almost immediately. One figure stepped out first and the familiarity caused Eric’s blood to run cold. He did not wait to see the rest.

Climbing into the Fiat, he jammed the keys into the ignition and brought the engine to life, aware that even as he did so, the enemy had retreated into his own vehicle and was warning the driver to give chase. Eric spun the wheel in full circle as soon as the gears and engines had given him leave to do so, causing the vehicle to execute a sharp turning circle that put them almost parallel with the assassins’ car approaching from the opposite direction. As the two vehicles swept past each other, Eric saw their pursuers winding down the window.

"Get down!" He ordered and crouched low as the barrage of gunfire strafed the body of the car and shattered windows. Glass exploded in the backseat as Eric forced his foot against the accelerator and roared out of the driveway at greater speed.

"Eric I’m sorry!" Jason cried out as the younger man stared out the windows and saw the dark car executing the same turn to maintain the chase.

"It’s alright!" Eric said hastily, not terribly concerned with how the enemy had found them but rather getting away with their skins intact. "Look grab one of the smaller bags and stick everything in it we need to run and leave the country."

"What?" "We’ve got to get out of this car," Eric retorted. "No way in hell is this pissy little Fiat going to outrun that Jag. We won’t even get half way to Reykjavik in this thing."

"What do we do?" Jason stared at him.

Eric stared at the headlights in the rear vision mission and saw the other increasing its speed, until the twin points of light had become powerful strobes reflected in the glass. They were gaining. In response, he forced his foot against the pedal once more, feeling the engine’s roar become more pronounced, until he was certain that he had wrung every bit of power that the car could muster into the spinning wheels carrying them forward. It was still not enough. The car was built to be reliable, not to race

Eric thought quickly, examining the mountainous regions that surrounded Fludir and knew that the natural terrain was the only way to lose their attackers. A sign blurred past them and his eyes flared, a thought coming to his head as Jason stuffed their identification, the helm and the artifact into the small canvas bag knapsack used to carry his film. Once again the mountain tracks surrounding the town beckoned him and Eric made a quick decision hoping that this was good enough.

"Make sure you grab parkas and jumpers for each of us," Eric instructed further.

"Why?" Jason asked suspiciously, his mind trapped between fearing for their lives and the occupants of the car and the idea he could sense behind Eric’s orders.

"Because we’re ditching the car."

"Ditching the car?" Jason’s brow shot up. "For what?"

Eric swung the wheel and forced the car into a side road sharply, causing them both to tilt to one side as they made the turn. Large, looming trees immediately surrounded them and the smaller road as the car sped down its length. Eric did not answer, his mind fixed upon controlling the speeding car on this small, winding road that was leading them deeper into the mountains. Behind them, their pursuers were maintaining the pace though there was still gap enough for Eric’s rather desperate plan to work. It was a slim hope at best, but if they remained in this car, the enemy would catch up to them and this time, they would not survive the encounter. He was certain of it.

"We’ve got everything!" Jason announced once he had secured the straps on the knapsack and slung it over his back. "Where are we going?" "

There," Eric pointed to the dark silhouette of a large country manor tucked neatly in the surround of mountains and steep hills. It sat facing a cliff with a sizeable drop into the Gullfoss River and the magnificent waterfalls for which the area was renowned.

"That place?" Jason stared at him quizzically. "Isn’t that the place you go for horse rides?"

"One and the same," Eric replied, not bothering to turn into the driveway that led to the manor itself, directing the vehicle towards the place where the manor’s source of income, their horses, were stabled. The road became uneven as they neared the stable and the sharp glare of headlights against the twilight darkness told them that their pursuers were still there. At best, Eric estimated they would have little more than minutes to make their escape before the assassins caught on to what they were doing.

Hopefully, none of those bastards could ride a horse.

*************

As soon as the car had come to a screeching halt, creating a cloud of mud and dirt as the wheels skidded against the soft ground, Eric jumped out of the driver’s seat and hurried towards the stables. Jason followed suit, pausing long enough to see the headlights of the assassins’ cars moving through trees as it followed the road to them. The journalist hurried past the stable doors and was immediately assaulted with the acrid aroma of hay, musk and manure. He grabbed the first saddle he saw on the ground and sought out the horses.

Icelandic horses or Tolts were medium size animals covered in thick fur and possessed a double mane. To survive in the harsh climate of Iceland, the horse had developed powerful musculature, good stamina and an ability to navigate through the volcanically formed terrain of the country. Considering what Eric intended to do to escape the enemy, the Tolt seemed perfect for their needs.

"You want to tell me what we’re doing?" Jason asked as he handed Eric his parka who put it on promptly.

"Isn’t it obvious?" Eric replied, having dropped the saddle on the ground once he found the horse that would wear the saddle so that he could don the heavy coat.

"We’re riding out of here?" Jason stared at him in incredulity putting on his own.

"We can lose them in the mountains and get back to civilization later. We stay in the car and they’ll find us."

"How do you know how ride a horse?" Jason questioned. "You’re from Marrickville for Christ sake!

"Despite the situation, Eric did found a smile stealing across his face as he saddled the animal, a beautiful chestnut mare with a double mane of flaxen hair, as quickly as possible. "My grandfather Theo had a property in Victoria," Eric answered hastily as he secured the straps of the predominantly English saddle with its Icelandic modifications and ensured that it was safe to ride. "When I was a kid, my dad used to take us there for the holidays. My granddad taught me how to ride. The property is still there but dad has a cocky to manage things for him."

"That’s the farm you keep talking about?" Jason declared, recalling Eric speaking of it one or twice in the past.

"That’s it," Eric retorted grabbing the reins and mounting the animal in one easy moment, surprising Jason with how comfortable and expertly he managed it. For a man who spent most of the time in the city, Eric seemed perfectly at ease on the animal.

"I can’t ride," Jason reminded him when suddenly they heard the screeching wheels of a car coming to abrupt halt. Both he and Eric exchanged the same look of realization.

"I know," Eric extended his hand out, "we’re going double. I don’t want us separated anyway."

Jason did not like the idea of riding behind Eric like he was a girl but supposed he did not have a great deal of choice. Taking the older man’s hand, he was helped awkwardly into the saddle behind Eric. It was just as well because the slamming car door indicated that their hunters were closing in on them again.

"Hold on," Eric replied and dug his heels into the horse’s flank, sending the animal into a rapid sprint towards the stable doors. Within seconds, they had emerged in the open once again, the chill night air assaulting them. Eric saw the occupants of the car had emerged and instinctively felt himself inching closer to believing Jason’s claim that these were supernatural beings.

Clad in their black suits and those pasty white masks, there were at least five of them making their way to the stable when he and Jason had barged out of the building astride their animal. Eric did not waste time with his observations and he kicked his heels into the horse once more, ensuring that it maintained its breakneck speed away from the enemy. The five men opened gunfire immediately, startling the horse somewhat but the animal’s response to this was to surge forward even faster than before. Eric took the most difficult route he could think of, one he was certain that could not be traversed by a car.

The mare was already bursting with adrenaline and had little difficulty making its way down the steep incline that would have sent a car flipping over on its back like a distressed terrapin if it made the attempt. Eric could feel Jason’s fingernails digging into his flesh from anxiety. Eric could not blame him. As able a rider as he was, Eric was relying on the animal’s natural fleet footedness to get them down this steep hill to the river’s edge. He hoped to follow the river as far as he could, certain that it would them lead to a town. Iceland was largely a haven for tourists these days and the Gullfoss was an important waterway. It was also inaccessible to cars for quite some distance and Eric intended to be safely away before their pursuers found a way to reach them.

It took some effort to remain in the saddle and he could feel Jason’s grip tightening and even glanced down to see knuckles turning white from the ordeal. If the horse were to lose it’s footing, the fall would most likely kill the animal and injure them severely. However, the animal appeared mindful as it navigated the uneven slope of rocks and dirt, somehow finding a path that its human riders could not see. Eric held on tight, tilting his back a little, working with the animal to reach the shale ground along the river.

"You right back there?" Eric asked, looking over his shoulder concerned. He hoped talking would take Jason’s mind off what they were doing. Even the bravest human being felt a little anxious their first time on a horse and usually the circumstances did not involve pursuit by ruthless assassins who may or may not be creatures with glowing red eyes.

"I’m fine," Jason replied tautly, keeping his eyes away at the river instead of the immediate ground and their unsteady descent. "Do you think they gave up?"

"No," Eric said without hesitation. "They’re probably looking for a way to get to us."

Suddenly, they both heard the sounds of horses neighing and looked over their shoulders simultaneously. "I think they found it," Jason declared, his throat becoming even drier than before as he saw their pursuers making their way down the slope astride horses. If Jason thought that Eric appeared comfortable in the saddle then the creatures commanded their mounts looked as if they were cavalrymen about to charge.

"Bugger!" Eric swore loudly and dug his heels into the horse’s flanks, inciting it into moving faster even though it was their present route was dangerous enough as it was. The enemy however, did not appear constrained by limitations of their own safety and were pushing their mounts hard to reach them. The horse grunted its disapproval but hastened its pace, making its riders suffer in the saddle as it rocked forward perilously on the uneven terrain. Jason’s grip around Eric had grown tighter and even Eric was forced to grip the pommel in order to maintain his balance. The riders behind them were surging down the hill at a faster pace, their animals snorting and neighing in protest. However, it did little to hinder their determination.

As the ground came closer and closer, Eric prayed they would reach the shore but was somewhat at a loss over what to do next. He had not considered the pursuers were such able horsemen or for that matter, so recklessly ignorant if their own safety. However, it hardly mattered now because the situation was what it was, they had to escape. His eyes searched the terrain and could see nothing that would help them. All he could hear was the rushing of water from the waterfalls that Fludir was so well known.

Suddenly a thought entered his head and as equally dangerous as it was in comparison to what their pursuers were now doing, Eric knew they had no other choice. To be captured would be to die.

"Come on!" Eric hissed forcing the horse to move faster, his heels assaulting the beast’s flanks relentlessly and invoked in him a surge of guilt at its treatment.

The horse put all its effort into reaching the ground and even then, Eric could not allow it the respite it so richly deserved, compelling it to surge forward again, past the five dark riders that were in close pursuit.

"What the hell are we going to do?" Jason asked, accustomed to following Eric’s lead after years in the field with him but growing anxious as the lack of any real strategy.

"What kind of a swimmer are you?" Eric ignored his question and demanded instead.

"I’m alright, why?" Jason shouted back, suddenly developing this very uncomfortable feeling in the pit of his gut. It was the same feeling that he had gotten when Eric had convinced him that they could both pass for Afghanis during the recent war there. The incident had almost resulted in both of them falling victim to a Taliban soldier’s killing spree where many civilians had been brutally killed.

"We’re going for a swim," Eric replied enigmatically as they raced along the river’s edge. Behind them, the assassins had reached the ground and spread out across the breadth of the shoreline. It appeared to Eric that they were almost accustomed to falling into formation on horseback. Once again, Jason’s suspicions about them surfaced in his mind and he was starting to think that perhaps the younger man was right, that these men were not men at all but creatures they did not understand.

Creatures who not only knew how to hunt but would not yield until their quarry was in their clutches.

Jason was dubious about the effectiveness of making a swim for it and wanted to question Eric about his plan when suddenly he felt the older man pull up the reins of the horse and bring the animal to a sudden stop. If not for his grip around Eric’s waist, he would have fallen out off the saddle.

"What are you doing?" Jason demanded glancing behind him and seeing their pursuers closing the distance.

Eric climbed off the saddle and hurried forward, reluctant to tell Jason the full extent of his plan. Fortunately, they did not have far too go and the rushing of water that had been building in their ears would soon reach climax and give Jason a fair idea of what he was intending. The enemy was closing in for the kill. They had no more than a matter of minutes. Jason ran after him, keeping up with no trouble at all. Truth be known, the kid was in better shape than he was and could probably outdistance Eric if he set his mind to it.

Within seconds, they had come to the edge on the top of the enormous cascade that was sweeping anything it is path further down stream at a rapid pace. It was awesome to look and utterly terrifying when one considered what their next step was going to be. Jason came to a halt next to Eric and saw him staring into the churning water and at the powerful currents continuing its journey once the water had escaped the boundaries of the water.

"Oh no," Jason shook his head in disbelief, beginning to understand. "You got to be bloody kidding!"

"Don’t worry," Eric said with more bravado then he really felt. "It will be just like Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid."

"Might I remind you," Jason growled, "that they DIED!"

"Well the Bolivian army is coming and unless you want to debate the matter with them, we’re going to have to jump," Eric retorted, having no patience to deal with Jason’s histrionics at this time.

"Aw Jesus!" Jason groaned and looked down felt his stomach turn to jelly. What Eric failed to realize, was that it was not the fact they were jumping into the waterfall with powerfully dangerous currents that made Jason so reluctant but rather the actual drop. Jason did not handle heights well at all. Travelling in a helicopter had been a personal nightmare the young man had forced himself to endure because he simply had to if he wanted to do his job.

"Jason," Eric said seriously, his expression sympathetic, "we’ll find another way down."

"Really?" Jason exclaimed with genuine surprise as well as relief.

"No," Eric declared promptly and threw a fist into Jason’s face, sending him reeling backwards over the edge.

"YOU BAST……!" He heard Jason screamed indignantly before Eric jumped in after him.

************

He hit the water at full force and was immediately dragged to the bottom by the currents continuing on its relentless onslaught down the river. For an instant, Eric was filled with panic as the icy cold water swirled in around him. His hands clawed desperately at the space in front of him, his fingers grasping nothing but freezing water as his feet kicked frantically to gain some buoyancy or for that matter, find the riverbed so that he could propel himself upward. Calming himself as the rush of wander filled his ears with relentless pounding, Eric knew that he could drown if he did not focus himself. It was almost impossible to see anything other than the bubbles before his eyes but that was more than enough for him to notice in which direction they were rising. Too many drowning victims had died because of that simple miscalculation.

 

Needing little more than a split second to note the direction of bubbles escaping his mouth, he started kicking strenuously and found himself gaining a little bit of distance as he stared to rise. The strong current was ushering him along but Eric was making a gradual progress. His lungs were bursting for air but he was not in dire straits, not yet at least. The cold was beyond belief and Eric who hated the freezing temperature knew for a fact that if they did not get out of this river and find some warmth, they ran the risk of hypothermia.

Struggling to swim despite the weight of his parka, Eric somehow manage to break surface. His emergence was followed by a hungry gasp for air and his parka swelled up and began to offer him some aid in staying afloat. He looked around and saw woods around him with the waterfall growing more distant. He could not see their pursuers but knew that the assassins would have to find a path down the waterfall to reach them. Hopefully, it would buy Jason and him some time to get away. He struggled to see through the darkness and was greeted with dark waves of water moving him further along with little definition.

"Jason!" Eric risked shouting, fearful that his inability to see his young cameraman might mean the worst.

Shuddering at each breath of ice cold air he was taking into his lungs, Eric shouted again when he received no answer. He searched the banks of the river and saw no signs of his friend. Christ, he thought to himself, what had been running through his mind when he forced the kid over that waterfall? A cold fear gripped his heart that had little to do with the temperature and everything to do with his feelings for Jason who had been like a brother to him in the past three years. They had gone through much together and the possibility that Eric might have killed him when he had thrown that punch was more than the journalist could stand.

"JASON!" He shouted once more, growing more frantic and no longer caring about the men or the creatures that were hunting him. He struggled to stay afloat so that he could see but the combination of water, waves and darkness made visibility poor.

"Will you shut the fuck up before they hear us?" Came a disgruntled reply through the rushing water ahead.

"Jason?" Eric struggled to see, pushing himself over the surface to gain a better view. He could see nothing but a large branch, obviously torn off by lightening or some other natural phenomenon and had found its way into the river.

"I’m here!" He saw an arm waving at him from behind the gnarled wood.

Eric began swimming towards the branch that was further up the river then he was. When he finally reached it, Eric let out a sigh of relief when he saw clinging it to the branch, with his knapsack still attached to his back, Jason looking just as cold and miserable as he. For a moment, their immediate situation fled Eric’s thoughts as he was overcome with a flood of gratitude knowing that Jason was alive and well, if not somewhat waterlogged. In seconds, Eric had swum his side, grabbing the discarded branch for support as well while it continued its journey down river.

"Thank Christ," Eric said breathlessly, "I thought I lost you there mate."

"Mate?" Jason glared at him. "We’re not mates. I quit. I’m going home to Wellington and taking that job at my father’s fish shop. Its greasy work but you don’t get thrown over cliffs and dragged into life and death situations by a Aussie lunatic who belts you when you’re not looking!"

"You hate fish," Eric grinned, having heard this tirade so many times before that he had it memorized.

Jason swept his gaze across their surroundings and retorted, "can you blame me?"

Both men met each other eyes and laughed out loud, forgetting for the moment that they were being hunted by assassins who may or may not be supernatural creatures, whilst carrying an artifact that should not have existed. It did not even register that they were being swept down river in freezing cold water that would most likely give them hypothermia if they did not remove themselves from it soon.

"What did you say that Professor’s name was?" Eric asked when they finally composed themselves.

"Hans Skogen at the University of Oslo," Jason replied.

"Oslo," Eric nodded, conceding defeat in regards to that particular issue. "Alright, we’ll play this out and see where it goes."

"You know I’m right Eric," Jason insisted, glancing towards the cascade where he was certain their assailants were descending in an effort to reach them. "I know what I saw, I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life."

"I’m not ready to believe that yet Jason," Eric replied sincerely. After all he had seen, he simply could not make the leap that Jason needed him to Not just yet. He was still too bound by what he considered to be the doctrine of his life, to never take anything on faith that could not be proven with cold hard data. He could sense that this belief was beginning to fray at the edges, but he was simply not ready to accept that they were embroiled in things far greater than he could imagine possible.

"I know," Jason patted him on the arm, aware of how difficult this was for him. "But it’s the truth and sooner or later, you’re going to have to accept it if we’re going to survive this thing."

"Not yet," Eric reiterated and decided to return their attention to their immediate situation of being swept into parts unknown by the currents of the river and slowly freezing to death. "Right now, we’ve got to get out of here."

"I’m for that," Jason agreed before looking at him. "You got a good grip of this branch?" He asked Eric suddenly.

"Yeah," the older man nodded, confused at the point of the question. "Why?"

Without saying another word, Jason threw a hard right at Eric’s jaw and caused the journalist to almost lose his grip of the branch but not quite.

"What was that for?" Eric cried out clutching his aching jaw.

"For finding another way," Jason smirked triumphantly reminding him of how Eric had helped him off the waterfall.

Now they were even.


	5. Chapter 5

The twins had never traveled to Frodowraith during the age of Middle Earth.

Alas their journey northwards had taken them no further than Mithlond and even then the twins had never felt the desire to venture into the icy wasteland beyond it.  Despite the fact that both brothers were avid explorers, the limitations of the times ensured that such a journey would be fraught with peril and there were far more pleasant places to visit in Arda than the ruined coast of what had once been Beleriand and the great ancient kingdoms. Some regret of this did follow them to the Undying Lands when they finally crossed over sea, borne out of the longing for the land they had known all their lives and the fear of going to an unknown place for all time.  

However, that was the past and now, it appeared that both Elladan and Elrohir would at last see the lands of Frodowraith.  The perils of the past no longer existed, not when they had made the journey on the large, snake like carriage that moved through mountains and across the landscape without pause.  Comfortably, they had sat in their berth, watching the scenery outside, the towns and the landscape in between.  As they moved northwards, the twins had spied the familiar shape of mountains where Imlardis had been.  Unfortunately, the moment was fleeting because the land had change so drastically that it bore little resemblance to their childhood home and to the Last Homely House.  They could have broken the journey to wander the paths of their childhood, transmuted as it was by history and change, but it would bring as much grief as it would bring pleasure. 

Travelling up the European coast, they saw the land become vibrant and green, filled with such lush beauty that it could almost be comparable with Valinor.  Unlike America, Europe saw no reason to build excessively. Much of the countryside remained and the same sense of tradition that they had seen in England. Their knowledge of recent history was not as in depth as it could be. Like most of the Valinorians, they had poured over the books that had been brought back during the two initial excursions to Arda but their grasp of the language was new and not all the words had meaning which they could fathom. Aaron, Eve, Bryan and Tory had explained as best they could but it was still a difficult proposition to compress ten thousands years of history into a quick, accessible format. 

Aaron had once said that if Africa was the cradle of humanity, then Europe was the cradle of the modern world. 

In Europe there was pride in what was old. It was preserved, restored and blended into suit.  More than any place they had been since arriving in Arda again, Europe reminded them Middle Earth as it once was.  They traveled through northern France, recognizing that these were once the lands of Arnor and then across Germany to enter the country called Denmark.  Beyond the window of their great carriage, they could see a land swathed in green as far as the eye could see, marred only by the occasional settlement and framed by magnificent coasts. They travel along its length, reaching to the very edge of the country before disembarking from their carriage to make the crossing into Norway by sea. 

 

Once again, the crossing allowed them to see the great fjords of Norway and further inland, the peaks of mountains that seemed endless.  It seemed that much of this country still remained covered in vegetation, allowing its natural beauty to flourish amidst the encroaching progress of civilization.  The twins liked this country very much and believed that the mountains were most likely what remained of Ered Mithrin though it was possible that they were wrong.  From the sea, their introduction to Norway made them anxious to explore the country, once they had ensured the safety of Bryan Miller’s brother.  Elrohir who had become fast friends with the reincarnation of Gondor’s great Captain, had promised Bryan that he would and the journey across Europe had been so rewarding for both brothers that neither minded undertaking the errand. 

Arriving in the city of Oslo, they had become so accustomed to travelling in the world of Arda that it was with little difficulty that they were able to find the place where Frank Miller was likely to be found.  It was hard to perceive that Frank was a scholar when one had met his brother.  That Bryan, who was the personification of the warrior spirit, had a younger brother whose vocation made him a scholar of the past, was somewhat astonishing to the twins.  Still, it was no more astonishing to know that the former king of Gondor had been reborn as a healer who had difficulty bearing arms of any kind.  

The question of how to approach Bryan’s sibling did however, weigh heavily upon their minds.  

Bryan had been adamant that once they delivered to Frank the message they bore from his brother, Frank would understand the need for Bryan’s disappearance. However, whether or not they wished to tell Frank about Valinor and the elves was another matter entirely. One thing they had learnt, not only from this visit but also from the one previously, men had a great deal of difficulty grasping the concept that they were not masters of this world. Being left alone for the past hundred thousand years, where not only the elves had departed but also the dwarves going to ground, had made them forget that they had once shared Arda with other races. 

While the situation had demanded both Aaron and Bryan to accept the truth that it was otherwise, there was no immediate peril that would facilitate this for Frank.  As a scholar, he would be even more difficult to convince then Bryan and despite their great affection for his brother, the twins had no idea how Frank would react to being told the truth, if they should decide to tell him. Unfortunately, anyone who came into contact with them for an extended period, possessing of a keen intellect would see that there was something about them that simply did not fit in the modern world.  The twins were certain that Frank would see this. 

It was decided that they would see how things develop and make their minds up once they had encountered Frank.  Elves were fairly good judge of character, since their experiences and their honed senses allowed them to see deeper beneath the skin than most. Once they met him, they should have some sense of the man, enough hopefully to decide whether or not he could be trusted with their secret. 

“Do you think we should simply go to his home and announce ourselves?” Elladan asked his brother as they moved through the sprawling campus of the Oslo University campus.  Fortunately, there was always someone who spoke English so the duo was not completely overwhelmed by the language barrier.  Their use of English had them branded quickly as tourists and so people were inclined to be naturally helpful in giving them directions, not to mention paying little attention to them beyond that fact. 

“I do not see how else we are to approach him,” his brother replied, his gaze moving across the park where he saw young people sprawled at rest areas, under trees and in the middle of the grass, enjoying the sunshine whilst pouring over their books. There was an air of dignity about the place, an atmosphere of burgeoning knowledge wishing to burst free from the minds of those who approached their scholarly pursuits with reverence. It reminded Elrohir of his father’s instruction to young acolytes in the healing arts during their time in Arda.  “If we approach him with subterfuge it may make the rest of what we tell him even more difficult to accept.”

“I am still dubious as to the sensibility of that course,” Elladan replied as he saw a golden haired beauty walk past him with an enchanting smile. “You saw Eve was when we first appeared to her.” 

“She did not faint,” Elrohir pointed out, “that is always a good sign. Actually, I find the women in this time less prone to fainting and vapors you notice?” 

“Well I think it has to do with the great teachers that Eve speaks so frequently about, the ones that changed everything,” Elladan remarked off handedly as he gazed up the stretch of walkway that led to the staff residences as directed to him by a helpful student earlier on. 

“Ah yes,” Elrohir nodded, having been subject to their quotes several times since their sister’s return to their lives. “Gloria Steinham and Germaine Greer.”

 

***********

It was chaos in the Miller household. 

Well it was always chaos around dinner, Frank thought as he tried to round up the boys who were playing outside while fielding requests from his wife to set the table at the same time since she was the one cooking. Naturally Sam and Pip, whose duty it actually was, were in the garden,  having suddenly developed selecting hearing even though Frank had called out twice for them already.  He had been trying to finish grading some papers in his study when Miranda enlisted him in the duty and somehow his comment of ‘just one more love’ did not impress her. Fortunately,  Frank had learnt well enough during nine years of marriage not to get on the wrong side of a wife with ex-military combat skills and had begrudgingly set the papers aside. 

“I know you heard me!” Frank shouted through the door once more and heard Sam responding something that they would be just one minute. “Dinner’s almost ready and I’m not happy to be stuck with your jobs. Get in here now!” 

Frank shook his head and retreated into the dining room, swearing profusely when he accidentally treaded on Pip’s Anakin Skywalker action figure. Leaning over, he picked up the toy and frowned when he saw the saber had been bent under the weight of his boot.

“You’re going to get a red one anyway,” Frank muttered tossing it someplace where it would not offend, the sofa, before continuing towards the kitchen. 

He found Miranda over the stove, putting the finishing touches to the evening meal, which smelt tasty enough although he knew from experience that it did not always deliver what it promised.  

“Tell me,” he asked, following the wafting trail of aroma, “why do we have children?” 

She cracked a smile and replied without looking up, “because you decided that the way appreciate the night sky in Africa was to sit under the stars with a blanket and a bottle of Riesling.”

“Oh yes,” Frank replied sliding his arms around her waist as he nuzzled her hair from behind, remembering the occasion well. While neither of them could say for certain that was the night Sam was conceived, it suited the romantic in both of them to think so.  “I was right, wasn’t I?” He asked as she turned her head slightly to capture his lips in a kiss. 

“Aside from all the grass in my clothes, I can’t say that you were,” she replied when they had parted. 

“Dinner smells good,” Frank remarked when the aroma of dinner captured his attention once more. “Though I think you have a bit too much cheese on that spaghetti sauce.” 

Miranda stiffened and gave him a look, “it’s lasagna.” 

Frank winced under his breath.  “I’ll just go get the boys,” he replied quickly, deciding that the best way to avoid the minefield he had inadvertently stumbled into was to make a strategic withdrawal from the battlefield. 

“Coward,” she stared at him through narrowed eyes even if her lips were crooked with amusement. 

"You bloody well better believe it," he grinned and went to round up his errant children who had just entered the house from the garden. 

"You owe me you two," Frank pointed out as he regarded the table. "It’s your job to set the table." He added, ruffling Pip's hair as he cast his gaze upon Sam. 

"Sorry dad," Sam replied, hurrying to take up the task because he did not like the idea of disappointing his father in anything, even if it was something as simple as setting the table. 

"That's alright," Frank smiled at his oldest and flinched at the purple bruise against the skin of his nose. "How is your face?" 

"It doesn't hurt so much any more," Sam called out as he darted into the kitchen to get the plates for the table. 

"Aksel doesn't bother me anymore after mum talked to him," Pip replied as he extended his hands out and displayed the universal sign of airplane to his father who promptly lifted him into the air and spun him around, almost on reflex. 

"I wouldn't be surprised," Frank muttered, hoping Miranda was not too harsh with the child, even if the little wretch deserved it. 

"Oh by the way boys," he said quietly to Pip and motioning Sam over when the child emerged from the kitchen armed with of plates.  "We're having lasagna." 

Both boys nodded gratefully at their father's warning perfectly aware of their mother's expertise when it came to cooking.  

She was capable of many wondrous things like knowing which movies to take them too even if dad had objections to the scary ones but cooking was not a skill she had mastered. Still, it was not hard to adore her when she sat through cartoons with them and let them watch South Park (much to their father's chagrin) or drive twenty miles to get them to a theatre because they wanted to see Harry Potter again when it was no longer showing locally. When she was required to act as disciplinarian, their punishments were usually followed by ice cream, reminding them that though she was angry, she still loved them.  They understood she had difficulty saying it sometimes and she was not the kind of mother who hugged and kissed a lot. That was left to their dad but their mother was there for them in every way that mattered and neither child wished she were any different. 

"What does it look like really?" Sam asked his father just as quietly. 

"Spaghetti," Frank shrugged and was grateful that the phone number for pizza was on speed dial.  Father and son exchanged a short laugh before Sam went to help Pip with the setting of the table. 

"Did we get videos tonight?" Frank called out to Miranda in the kitchen as he stared at his sons' arguing over which side the fork when on the place map, a discussion that Frank had been called upon numerous occasions to referee.   

"Yes," Miranda sang back in response, "brace yourself, the kids want to see Jurassic Park again." 

"I wish you wouldn't rent that," Frank groaned, "it is not at all a true depiction of archaeology.  I mean I have never felt the urge to carry a bullwhip." 

Miranda emerged from the kitchen carrying a serving dish, "not even once?" She teased. 

"Actually, I had ideas about you carrying one, whilst clad in figure hugging leather and boots with spiked heels." 

She rolled her eyes, grateful that the conversation was lost on the children, "maybe for your next birthday," she replied winking at him mischievously. 

"Really?" Frank looked at her. 

Miranda did not have the opportunity to answer because no sooner than he had spoken, they heard a knock on the door.  His eyes met hers first in question before the inevitable question left his lips.

"Are you expecting anyone?" Frank asked. 

"No," she shook her head, since she hardly knew anyone in Oslo beyond the faculties wives she encountered during the staff parties or functions. "You?" 

"It may be Hans," he answered, making his way to the door to answer it since she was busy setting down the hot serving dish onto the table. "He's still a little shaken about the accident in Hofsjokull.  I told him to come around if he needed company." 

"Well he's welcomed certainly," Miranda answered before turning to Pip and examining his hands. "Go wash," she instructed the child and then regarded Sam with the same scrutiny, "you too Sammie." 

"Mum!" Sam grumbled.

"I'm sorry,  _Sam_ ," Miranda shook her head, "go wash your hands." 

Frank left his children to their mother and went about the business of answering the door, pushing aside another toy on the floor and making a mental note to have a 'discussion' with his children about keeping their belongings out of tripping way.  He thought of the days when his existence revolved around the study of the past and every discovery had been something to relish with pride.  It was so far removed from this chaos and yet he balked at the notion of having things the way they were because he could not imagine life without Miranda and his sons.  As mad as the household and children might seem, he knew neither he nor Miranda would trade any of it.  His brother Bryan, who had despised the marriage state, simply had no idea what he was missing. 

Opening the door, Frank had expected to see the slightly diminished form of Professor Skogull who appeared so much older after learning of the accident. It grieved him to see his friend that way but there was little he could do to assuage the hurt of so many lost friends.  However, instead of Hans standing on the front porch of the house, Frank found himself staring at two men he had never seen before. The two strangers with dark hair and same intense eyes told Frank immediately that these were siblings.  The similarities in some of their features left him with no other conclusion. 

Their blue eyes widened upon seeing him and a smile crossed their faces as if in recognition, Frank was quickly sifting through his memories, hoping that these were university friends that he could not longer remember but discounted it immediately. These were not faces that you forgot.  

"You are Bryan's brother," one of them said. 

Frank's chest immediately tightened with anxiety. 

Six months ago, his brother had disappeared off the face of the earth. 

While Frank had never known for certain what Bryan did for a living, he knew that it was dangerous and Bryan was the absolute best at what he did.  Being Bryan, he could be no other way.  Miranda who had worked with her brother had been equally closed mouth about it. He knew that they had both worked in some capacity for the government and it had to do with their combat training.  The scars he had seen on Miranda's skin was a testament to how dangerous the work was and too many times had Frank seen the same scarring on his brother to know that they could be killed in their line of work and killed in turn.  Bryan had tried his best to keep Frank out of the shadow world in which he existed and Miranda was more than happy to leave it behind in its entirely when she married him.  

When Bryan telephone him six months ago, he had explained Frank that it was necessary for him to disappear.  Frank understood and accepted it even if he did not like the idea of being cut off from his brother.  However, Bryan would not take such steps unless there was a compelling reason and Frank had preferred his brother stay alive. However, his explanation for his impending absence was not the only thing he had to impart to Frank, there had also been a more ominous reason behind his telephone call.  He had told Frank to deny he had a brother to anyone he did not trust with his life.  Bryan had claimed to have taken appropriate measures to ensure that no one seeking him out would find their way to Frank but just in case, it was necessary to take the precaution. 

Frank had not told Miranda about Bryan's warning.  He had merely informed her that her brother needed to disappear for a while and Miranda knew enough about Bryan's business to understand what that meant and not need further details.  He knew he should have told her about Bryan's request but Miranda had so many demons of her own that Frank had not wished to add to them with the possibility that their family might be in danger. However, now that he found himself staring at these two men with their question hanging in the air like a pregnant drop of water about to fall, Frank wondered if he should have told her the truth. 

"I'm sorry, you must be mistaken," Frank said retreating past the doorway, preparing to shut the door in their faces. 

"Please," Elladan spoke quickly, sensing the man's apprehension. "We mean you no harm. We have a message from your brother and we have come a long way to deliver it." 

"I'm sorry you have wasted your time," Frank retorted, not about to be swayed by such words, no matter how convincingly they were delivered. 

"Wait," Elrohir stepped forward, reaching quickly into his coat to produce the folded piece of paper Bryan had given him to pass onto Frank. "This is for you." 

Frank saw the note and paused, trapped between curiosity and the need to protect his family.  However Bryan was his brother and if these men were indeed sent by him, then Frank owed it to Bryan to at least give them the benefit of the doubt.  In any case, if they were the reason Bryan had warned him, than it was too late already if these men had found them.  Reaching out gingerly, Frank took the note and unfolded it quickly, aware that they were staring at him in anticipation. It was a hand written message and the words were in that familiar scrawl that matched a dozen or so letter that Frank had stored in his study from years of correspondence with Bryan. 

The handwriting was his brother's undoubtedly. 

He did not have to read the entire contents of the letter to discern that but he did so anyway just to ease his mind.

_Dear Frank,_

_How is it going? I hope this letter finds you and family doing well up there in the cold country. Couldn't believe it when you told me that you'd pull up stakes and were heading over to Europe. Didn't you once tell me over pints at that pub in Scarborough, that Africa was where real archaeology took place? Maybe I was wrong, if I recall correctly, I was hitting on that pretty barmaid, what was her name?_  

"Jill," Frank said softly. 

_Jill? Anyway, I thought I'd just drop you a note and tell you how I'm doing, which is fine.  You'd be happy to know that I have actually settled down. She's a great lass, used to be a barrister.  She didn't slap me after the first kiss, so she must be the one, eh?  We've been living together these past six months and we're perfectly safe, all three of us. Yes, there's a little one too whom I hope you'll one day meet. She's not my little girl but what drove me out of England is the reason why she's with me. It’s a strange thing you know.  For once it looks like I am needing your advice instead of the other way around._

_These blokes who have delivered this message have come a long way. I know you're probably a little nervous about receiving them after what I said to you when I left.  However, if you have any doubt that this letter is a forgery, rest assured it is not. It is as real as what you did to mum's vase and where you buried it under the rose patch, leading her to believe Mrs. Potts from down the road had nicked it. I know they’re a little strange but they’re my friends and their lot have seen to it than I’m very taken care of.  You can trust them with your life Frank, yours and the family’s. I mean that. They may not tell you where I am but that’s okay, I think that it is better that you don’t know.  They just dropped by to see you because I asked them and also because I need a few things I’d appreciate you get me.  The shopping around here isn’t good and I’m getting low on everything. I wouldn’t mind a couple of cases of Fullers, what passes for alcohol around here makes me weep._

_Anyway, better let you get back to it. Give my love to Miranda and the kids._

_Love Bryan,_

_PS. Don’t let them near alcohol; they hold their liquor like Yanks._

Frank lowered the letter and met the gazes of the two men waiting for his response in silent anticipation. He studied them for a moment, trying to discern why Bryan would trust them so completely and most of all, why he had advised Frank not to ask them where they had come from. It was a valid question and considering his long absence, perfectly justifiable from Frank’s point of view. However, there was something about them, something he could not put his finger on.  Frank had a keen intellect when it came to reading people and for some reason, he had difficulty utilizing that skill where the duo was concerned.  Something skirted on the periphery of his mind, whispering things he was certain the logical part of him did not want to hear, but this gnawing feeling attacked itself to him nonetheless. 

“Is he alright?” Frank asked quietly. 

“He was well when we last saw him,” Elrohir answered him with an inward sigh of relief because it seemed as if Bryan’s letter had convinced Frank to accept them as no threat to his family. 

“He has taken to working wood,” Elladan added, recalling that Bryan had apparently shown some interest in carpentry and was amenable to being taught some elven methods of the craft during his time in Valinor. 

Frank let out a small laugh, “yes, he used to build things when he was younger, before he went away to the army.  I haven’t seen him show an interest in it in years but I’m glad.” 

Elladan had met the Prince of Ithilien only a number of times during the Third Age but it seemed appropriate that he would be reincarnated as Bryan’s brother. From what he knew of their relationship, Denethor’s sons had been very close in order to compensate for a distant father, absorbed by matter greater than them both and slowly being poisoned by the war with Mordor.  Such bonds were difficult to break and had tethered their souls to each other, even through time. Frank Miller looked a little different from his Middle Earth counterpart but Elladan had no doubt that this was indeed Faramir of Ithilien. 

“Please come in,” Frank said after a moment, aware of Miranda staring cautiously at him from the table, wanting to know who the strangers were and why he seemed so anxious. “We were about to sit to dinner, we're happy to have you join us.” 

“Thank you,” Elrohir nodded, appreciating the dazed tone in the man’s voice.  “I am called Elrohir and this is my brother Elladan.” 

Frank paused a moment, looking over his shoulder at the mention of those names.  He had never heard anything quite like it and wondered what language they found their origins. “Those are very unusual names, where are you from?” He asked and instinctively winced because Bryan had asked him to desist in that very question. 

“From across the sea,” Elladan replied smoothly, not wishing to reveal any more about their origins than that. 

Frank was not surprised by the answer and supposed he deserved that elusive response for ignoring Bryan’s advice. Bryan had asked him to trust them and Frank knew his brother would not make such a request lightly, especially when it meant gambling with the safety of his family.  

“Luv,” Frank gaze stretched across the room to find Miranda and the kids already at the dinner table. “We’ve got company.” 

 

************

 There was something odd about their guests. 

This much Miranda decided as she stared at them from across the dinner table. An atmosphere of awkwardness had settled over the room once introductions were made and their guests had joined them for the evening meal. Unspoken questions hung precariously in the air, threatening to drop at any moment. As Miranda studied the men who had entered her home, she noted the way they were looking at her and her family.  If she did not know better, she would swear that they were being viewed with familiarity.  When the brothers first looked upon Sam, they immediately broke into a smile and exchanged glances that made her maternal instincts rise to the surface with the intensity of the Alien Queen about to give Sigourney Weaver an acid bath. 

However, they made no overtly untoward actions towards her son even if they told Sam, who like all children was pleased by the attention, that they were very pleased to meet him.  What surprised Miranda was the fact that she could tell that they meant it sincerely.  They showed the same regard towards Pip, but it was clear that Sam had somehow sparked their admiration though why Miranda could not possibly imagine. When they had met her gaze, it was with that same recognition and while she and Frank some discomfort in their presence, the two men appeared perfectly at ease in their company, as if they were old friends becoming reacquainted. 

During a short tete' tete' in the kitchen where they had left Pip and Sam to entertain their guests, Frank showed her the contents of Bryan's letter and Miranda could not deny that its tone was very much Bryan even if the handwriting was a perfect match. However, she noted that Bryan had taken care to add in details that he knew only his brother could conform as fact, even if it appeared to be little more than harmless musing at times. Despite Frank's curiosity, she could understand why Bryan would wish to keep his location a secret but wondered where these men had actually originated.

Despite their Caucasian features, it was clear that they did not hail from Europe.  She supposed they could have come from Russia but their accents did not possess any hint of that and she had traveled to that country enough to know the difference.  Their voices had a resonance to it that was almost musical and they were almost picture perfect specimens of manhood.  Chiseled features, long dark hair, with braids in appropriate places and deep intense eyes that scrutinized everything with the precision of a hunter.  She knew the look well having seen it enough times in the mirror. 

They looked at her in the same way, sizing her up under their intense gazes, measuring both her and Frank to some unspoken ideal.  

“How long do you plan to stay?” Miranda asked, reminding herself to curb her curiosity.  If Bryan wanted his location kept a secret, there was probably a very good reason. Knowing where he was would only make them a liability, not only to his safety but to the family’s as well. 

“We do not plan to remain long,” the one called Elladan answered her, wearing that damnable expression of quiet awe she could not fathom.  “Bryan asked us to inquire after you, to ensure that you are safe.” 

“What would we have to be protected from?” She asked pointedly, not liking the idea that there was something lurking in the dark. Frank’s eyes dropped at the moment and suddenly Miranda had the impression that her husband had not told her the entire truth about Bryan’s disappearance. 

“Boys,” Frank spoke, turning his attention to Sam and Pip who had finished dinner but were still at the table. “Why don’t you go start the movie without us, mum and I need to have a serious talk.” 

Sam nodded, his youthful face showing his concern even if Pip was too young to understand.  “Alright dad,” he answered and regarded his brother, “come on Pip, let’s go watch the movie.” 

The two children left the table and none of the adults spoke until they heard the familiar score of the classic film emanating from the television set. 

“Luv,” Frank cleared his throat, hating to admit to Miranda that he had lied to her but he knew his wife, she would not let go the possibility of danger until she knew the truth. “When Bryan left, he told me that he had taken care of things to ensure that no one came looking for us but if anyone asked, I was to deny that I had brother.”

Miranda stared at him, aware of the implications of such a request. It meant people were hunting him, people who wanted him badly enough that they might use his family to coerce him into showing himself.  She felt her cheeks flush with anger, not because of the danger but because Frank had omitted telling her. The last six months, she had been oblivious to any danger because it did not occur to her that there could be any. How many occasions had she left herself and her children open to attack because she had not known? 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” She asked quietly. 

“I didn’t think that there was any reason to worry you,” Frank swallowed thickly. 

“My lady,” Elladan quickly interjected, “please do not be angry with your husband. Those who seek your husband’s brother would have had no way to communicate to him that they had you in their power. Even if they have found you, there was very little benefit in their apprehending you.  Bryan is as beyond you as he is beyond them.  They know that.” 

“What does that mean?” She turned to him. “Beyond us? What is it that they think Bryan has that we could be used as blackmail.” 

“Something that is exceedingly dangerous,” Elrohir answered cautiously, not about to reveal everything they knew about Sauron and his machinations in Arda since his return in the modern age. “Your brother,” he glanced at Frank, “averted a crisis that would have caused unimaginable destruction to your land but he could not destroy the enemy completely.  Bryan took away from them their leader and has him held in a place they cannot reach. Bryan feared that perhaps, they might attempt to use you to bargain for their leader’s return. However, even if they embarked upon such a course, they cannot convey to your brother that they have you. So it avails them nothing.  It is far more sensible for them to wait until Bryan returns to make a move against you, which is why he remains where he is.” 

“You should have told me,” she looked at him Frank with accusation but understanding that he had tried to protect her 

“I’m sorry,” Frank apologised. “I didn’t want to worry you about something that may never come up.” 

“If that were true, these two wouldn’t be here,” Miranda turned to Elladan and Elrohir, “would they?” 

Neither of the brothers could deny her statement abjectly.  

“We came to see if you were well,” Elladan spoke after a moment, having no doubt that the White Lady existed within the flesh of this woman for she bore the shield maiden’s sharp wit and strength.  “It appears to us that you are. That is the report we will bring home to Bryan when we return.” 

“That and your superior culinary skills,” Elrohir added with a smile. 

Miranda gave him a look and retorted, “now I  _know_  you are lying.”


	6. Artifact

Gardermoen Airport was very much like the country of its birth. 

This, Eric Rowan decided when he and Jason Merrick entered the terminal following the flight from Reykjavik. On first appearances, the designed was very reminiscent of some of the older landmarks scattered across Europe, with huge gray columns that keep the high walls and floor from meeting. However, the effect was superficial because once one shed the jet lag or disorientation associated with a new place, they would see the outside world through the sheets of glass walls. The inside of the airport was more or less sprawling since there was few walls inside the structure, beyond the main. The airport felt like a nexus between the old and new, which was rather appropriate since Eric had always considered airports the crossroads of the modern world. 

It was early morning and the airport was bustling with activity.  Eric was somewhat grateful for this organized chaos because it meant that their arrival would be difficult to track.  Ever since they had crawled out of that freezing river in southern Iceland and found their way to a local farmer’s house, he had been looking over his shoulder for the assassins that were undoubtedly still hunting them.  Somehow, they had made it to Rekjavik and managed to leave the country without being seen.  He had been concerned that the authorities would give them trouble about the artifacts they carried whey they attempted to pass customs.  Fortunately, airport security these days were more concerned with hijackers to pay too close attention to two journalists carrying a partially exposed crystal embedded in rock and a helmet that could have been bought from any souvenir shop. 

After Jason’s lapse in bringing the assassins right to them, Eric had become paranoid of letting anyone know where they were. He knew he should have reported into his news editor Robert, but considering how Robert felt about him at this time, the man would not go to any lengths to protect him if anyone came asking after them. As it was, the man’s first order when Eric revealed to him that they had survived the massacre was to sit tight and wait for instructions.  So far, nothing had been heard from the man and though he did not voice it to Jason just yet, Eric wondered if the lack of response had anything to do with the fact that Robert did not expect them to be alive to receive instructions. 

Eric made a mental note to contact Dominique when time permitted and see if she knew anything about Robert’s possible links to Malcolm Industries.  While Eric was not entirely ready to believe that Robert hated him enough to sell him out to the assassins, he could not discount the possibility either.  Besides, Jason was correct, he did try to  _bang_  the bosses’ wife and most men reacted rather badly to such situations. 

After arriving at the airport, they took a cab to the City Center that was not far from where the University of Oslo was found in the area of Blindern. Checking into the Grand Hotel, Eric had hoped for far less ostentatious accommodations. The Grand Hotel was an exercise in grand elegance with all the modern amenities and the most important thing that two travelers from Australia could want, a predominantly English speaking staff. With the main language of Norway being Bokmål, a Danish –Norwegian dialect based on Danish, Eric thought it was a necessary requirement. Hopefully their business with Professor Skogull would not take too long and they could get out of the city without having to remain at the Grand for too long. 

After checking into the impressive hotel with its elegant Old World architecture and thanking the gods of credit that they could bill the cost of their accommodations to their company charge account, Eric and Jason took a taxi to the university. They had seen its outskirts during the drive from the airport and were impressed by its size. It was one of the most prestigious universities in Europe and when one saw it face to face, it was easy to discern why. Eric could imagine why most of Petra Tebben’s colleagues had come from here. It was truly one of the centers of academia for the entire country.  He only hoped that Jason was right about Professor Skogull being able to discern what the artifact was and why someone was willing to kill for it. 

  
Neither Eric nor Jason had made mention of the supernatural aspects of the situation.  Despite everything he had seen, Eric was simply not convinced that these killers were the boogey men Jason claimed them to be.  There had to be a logical explanation to all this, he told himself.  Eric knew he was being stubborn and his reason for being so adamant had to do with his fear that his beliefs about the world were about to endure a spectacular challenge.  Yes, he did notice the odd things. The fact that the helmet had sizzled when it made contact with the assassin’s body.  He did not reveal to Jason that they scared the hell out of him from the moment he had laid eyes on them and it wasn’t simply because he knew they were killers. It was a fear borne from under the skin that was almost primordial, the way a mouse knew instinctively that the cat was its natural enemy from the instant it laid eyes upon the beast. 

Not that Jason would have noticed the conflict. Since the incident at Hofskojull, Eric had noticed that Jason had trouble sleeping. In the twin share room they had occupied the night before their flight, Jason’s sleep had been restless. At some points during the night, Eric was certain Jason had awakened in a cold sweat. He would have asked the younger man about it but since Jason did not make comment about it, Eric allowed him his privacy. Even during the flight when he had dozed off, whatever was bothering him in the twilight hours had followed Jason and there was more than one occasion when his eyes flew open in his seat and Eric was certain he was ready to jump out of his skin.

“You okay?” Eric found himself asking during the taxi ride to the university. 

Jason turned to him a few seconds later, realizing he had spoke, “you say something?” 

“I asked if you were alright,” Eric repeated, becoming increasingly concerned about his young partner in crime.  “You seem a little out of it.” 

“Its nothing,” Jason shrugged, “too many thoughts going through my head. None of it making sense.” 

“Want to talk about it?” Eric offered, seeing that it was not all right.  Whatever worried Jason was reflected in his eyes and it showed Eric that his concerns ran deep. 

“Its nothing you to want to hear,” Jason retorted, a little angry at Eric because he would not believe that they had stumbled into something dark and sinister, that could not be explained by normal rules of logic. 

“Try me,” Eric offered, telling himself that he would be supportive no matter how skeptical he was of Jason’s fears or beliefs that they were being chased by supernatural creatures.

Jason dropped his gaze to the knapsack at his feet, as if he could see past the canvas into the rock that awaited scrutiny at Hans Skogull’s hands.  It was a few more seconds before he raised his eyes to Eric and trusted his friend enough to answer.  Eric may be an ass at times but he was a good friend and Jason was reasonably confident that he was capable of empathy not derision if Jason confided in him. 

“That thing,” Jason said after a pause, “I think he knew me.” 

“Knew you?” Eric’s brow wrinkled in confusion. “What do you mean knew you?” 

“He came after me,” Jason tried to explain himself. “When everyone was being gunned down, he came specifically after me.  Why? If it was because I was apart of the news team, they would have come after you." 

“Don’t sell yourself short,” Eric replied quickly. “They could have just as easily been working their way through the room.” 

However, he could not deny the truth of Jason’s allegation. When the leader had seen the young Kiwi, nothing else had seemed to matter.  He had more or less forgotten the others in the room and headed straight for Jason. 

“He knew me Eric,” Jason insisted, “he knew me personally and he kept asking me about a woman.” 

“A woman?” Eric’s brow arched even higher. “What woman?” 

“The Shield Bitch he called her,” he answered, “is the shield bitch here too? That’s what he said?” 

“Shield bitch?” Eric burst out because it sounded absurd. “What does that mean?”

“I don’t know,” Jason confessed, “but when he said it, there was something in his voice.” 

“What?” Eric leaned in closer as he waited for the answer. 

“Fear,” Jason met his eyes.  “There was fear.” 

**************

 

It did not take them long to arrive at the campus and Eric was grateful that it was midday since hopefully, the professor would not be teaching a class at lunch time and would have time to talk to them. As it was, Eric wondered how much they ought to tell him since the man would have almost certainly have heard about the deaths of the excavation team by now. He and Jason decided to play it by ear for the moment.  If it became necessary to tell him the truth, Eric hoped Hans was capable of hearing it because beyond this particular course of action, Eric had no other plan save running home to Australia and somehow, he had the sense that they were no safer there than there were here. 

It did not take them long to find their way to the Paleoanthropology Department with Eric paying little attention to the plethora of pretty co-eds that happened past with their Nordic good looks and perfect bone structure. A testament to the urgency of their situation. It seemed so profane as they walked along the manicured lawns and tree-lined paves that little more than a day ago, they were fighting for their lives in a freezing cold river being pursued by possibly supernatural monsters. 

When they were finally shown into the office of Professor Han Skogull, they were confronted by a man in his late fifties, dangerously close to retirement age, with snow-white hair and a face leathered by an outdoor life.  They had not made an appointment out of some irrational fear that Malcolm Industries might have Skogull’s ear and to do so would be giving the enemy another opportunity to ambush them again.

“Doctor Skogull,” Eric introduced himself after he and Jason were invited into the room. “My name is Eric Rowan and this my associate Jason Merrick, we’re from Channel Nine News in Australia, if you’re not busy we would like a word with you.” 

“What does an Australian news team want with me?” He asked with genuine curiosity. 

“We’ve come a long way to see you in order to get your opinion on artifact that has come into our possession,” Eric continued, aware that he was being evasive but short of telling the man the truth, it was the best he could do. 

“Really?” Skogull looked the two men curiously, wondering what could be so important to bring it to him personally.  “Tell me about it,” he asked reaching for his spectacles at the corner of the desk. 

Eric nodded at Jason who reached into the knapsack and produced the objects in question. Placing it on the desk, Skogull’s first impulse was to reach for the helmet. He studied it for a few moments, his brow arching periodically as he scanned the artifact closely. Of course it was impossible for him to make any astonishing revelation from just this observation alone and Eric was reluctant to tell him about Petra Tebben’s estimation of its correct age, not until he heard what Skogull had to say. 

“Where did you find this?” Skogull asked putting down the helm after a few minutes of interminable silence. 

“Iceland,” Eric answered gingerly, “it was found in the a chasm about a kilometer from the surface.’ 

“This isn’t exactly my field but the design is unusual,” Skogull responded. “Not to mention the size. This is too large for human and the fossilization around the metal seems to indicate extreme age, consistent with what I might have found on fossils of early man.” 

“Tell him the truth Eric,” Jason said suddenly.

Eric stared him. “Jason...” 

“Tell him the truth because we need answers and we don’t have time to wait,” the younger man stated. “Those people were his friends, he has a right to know what happened to them.” 

Eric swore under his breath at Jason’s outburst. The kid was too damn noble for his own good. It was always a sore point between them out in the field.  Jason had great difficulty maintaining the emotional detachment journalists were meant to have and there had been too many occasions when Jason had complicated their assignments with his idealism.  Unfortunately, it was also one of the qualities that Eric admired in Jason, the fact that despite all the ugliness he saw, Jason honestly believed that people were good and could be trusted if offered the chance to prove it.

One of these days, it was going to get them killed. 

“Explain yourselves gentlemen,” Hans declared, making the connection with far greater speed than Eric would have given him credit. 

“Professor,” Eric cleared his throat and threw Jason a dark look, “we took these items from Petra Tebben’s archaeological excavation in the Temple Glacier. We were there, the day the team was killed.” 

“What?” Hans exclaimed, rising to his seat, his face turning so white that it almost resembled the shade of his hair. 

“Doctor Tebben had requested a news team in order to expose her find before Malcolm Industries had the opportunity to cancel her grant and stopped the work,” Eric continued. “She called us in to do a story, hoping that the finds which included that helm and something else, would gain national acclaim and she could justify the continuation of the work.” 

Eric went on to explain how he and Jason had been shown the helm and the primary artifact, the curious crystal like object trapped in a shell of stone. He told the professor of how nine men in dark clothing had appeared in the cavern where the dig was situated and opened fire, killing everyone and might have done the same to them if not for their escape. He omitted the supernatural aspects of the killing, certain that Skogull would find it even more difficult to accept than Eric would himself.  However, what he did reveal was enough. 

“And there is no way to prove it?” Skogull managed to say after their narration was over. 

“Not a one,” Eric shook his head. “You can check our credentials if you like and contact the Icelandic authorities. I’m sure my allegation is filed somewhere but truth is, the men who killed the excavation team want us dead and we have to know what is so important about these object, they were willing to kill everyone to hide its existence from the world.” 

“But it is impossible,” Skogull stammered. “This cannot have been made a hundred and fifty thousand years ago,” he said staring at the helm. “Mankind was able to fashion tools and objects out of bone, stone and wood but not metal and certainly not like this. For all its degradation, the work is extremely fine.  Craftsmanship like this is not a mere aberration, it’s sophisticated and requires technique perfected over time.” 

“And this?” Eric gestured to the artifact that Skogull had given a cursory examination. 

“I have never seen anything like it. Doctor Tebben was correct in saying that it was not a jewel but it is not a crystal either. You said she claimed it was radiating energy?” 

“Apparently the spectrometer was unable identify what it was,” Jason added. “She had everyone handling it wear protective gear.  We haven’t been that careful but we have avoided touching the crystal or whatever it is directly. She believed this was the major find, not the helm.” 

Han examined the object while holding it in a pair of calipers, his eyes catching the gleam in its surface.  There was something powerful about the artifact. He could feel its resonance almost on an instinctual level. Even though it was only partially exposed, Hans knew that to discern its true nature, it would have to be removed from its husk, so that a proper analysis had been made. His colleagues and friends may have died because of this little oddity of nature and Hans knew to understand why that had happened, he would have to unlock its secrets. 

************

Frank had just finished his last class and was on his way home when he remembered that he wanted to check in on Hans. Thanks to the events of the last day, with the arrival of their unexpected guests, Frank was ashamed to admit that he had forgotten about the old Professor who was still grieving for those killed in the accident at Hofskojull. After ushering his last student out of the room and shutting the door to the lecture hall behind him, Frank made his way through the faculty building towards the Professor's office.  He wondered if Miranda would be too upset if he invited the old man home for dinner again, especially when they had something of a full house already. 

So far the two visitors had contented themselves with remaining in close proximity of the house. Frank suspected that all the traveling they had done to reach him in Norway had engendered in them a desire to simply rest for a few days, without the urgency of having to board some form of modern transport for the next leg of their journey.   In fact, they had remarked wishing to see some of the country because it reminded them greatly of home. When questioned again of where that place actually was, they had once again managed to step the inquiry, inciting Miranda's ire to no end.  Despite her detached and disciplined manner, his wife could be very much female at times and burdened with the gender's natural inquisitiveness.

There was a good reason it was  _Pandora_  who opened the box, he thought to himself. 

The twins seemed to enjoy the children the most however and while parents in this day and age may have reservations about two adult men having such a fondness for two young boys, Frank sensed nothing sinister or inappropriate about it. He could not understand why he was so certain of this but knew that if Miranda did not suspect them in this regard, then he could be confident of his own judgment in the matter.  They told the boys of stories involving wizards and magic rings, of great kings and battles, these were tales so richly textured that Frank was curious to know where they had originated because he wished he had known of them a child. While Sam had little interest in the literary, his first born nevertheless listened with rapt attention while Pip absorbed everything with wonder and awe. 

Walking down the corridor, he heard voices in the quiet faculty. With most of the students scattering to their last classes of the day, the staff usually followed the exodus.  Hans always stayed late since the Professor confessed to him once that it was during these hours that he got the most thinking done. Frank paused in his footsteps because one of the voices he heard belonged to Hans and quickly discerned that the Professor was in the laboratory. Unaware that Hans was working on anything that required lab work, Frank immediately strode towards the room.  If Hans was throwing himself into some new project, it was the best thing for him Frank decided.    

Stepping into the laboratory, Frank saw Hans talking to two strangers with great animation.  Neither were men he recognized and they certainly did not look like university students. Their eyes darted to him the instant he entered the room like deer that were caught in headlights. Their anxiety at seeing him was unmistakable and immediately raised Frank's internal alarm that something was not right. 

"Hans, is everything all right?" Frank asked, eyeing the men cautiously as he walked deeper into the room. 

Hans who had been so engrossed with what he was doing at the bench had not noticed Frank's presence until he spoke and then promptly looked over his shoulder to exclaim boisterously, "Frank, I'm glad you're here. I could use your help on this." 

"Professor," the tall man with the dark hair objected almost instantly. 

He was Australian, Frank noted silently as he continued his approach despite the man's disapproval of his presence. 

"Its alright," Hans said dismissing his guests' fears, "this is Frank Miller, he's one of our lecturers and a notable paleoanthropologist. You can trust him." 

"What is going on?" Frank asked suspiciously, his eyes raking over the two strangers with just as much scrutiny as they were visiting upon him. 

"These gentlemen have brought me an artifact from the site at Iceland. This was what Petra Tebben was working on, this was the find that she claiming would vindicate her," Hans said with no small amount of excitement. 

"Really?" Frank stared at them because neither looked like archaeologists of any description. The shirt worn by the tall one was worth at least week's salary to Frank.  

"This is Eric Rowan and Jason Merrick of the Australian Channel Nine news," Hans announced while remaining hunched over the workbench, meticulously chipping away the fossilized layer of dirt around the object that had captured his attention so fully. "They were the last people to see the team alive." 

"And they simply gave you their artifacts?" Frank stared at Eric with growing animosity. Han's scientific curiosity often blinded him to people and Frank was too much Bryan Miller's brother to be so completely trusting. 

"Just wait a bloody minute…" Eric growled, starting to get very annoyed by what this Pom was implying.  

"Frank," Hans raised his head, equally annoyed that he had to stop what he was doing to intervene in the growing tensions. "These men did not steal anything. The excavation team was murdered. They barely escaped with their lives and these objects. They came to me to find out what was so important about the artifacts that Malcolm Industries is willing to kill anyone who has come into contact with it." 

"What?" Frank stared at Hans and then at the two men in astonishment, his jaw dropping open in shock. This was the sort of thing he expected from Bryan, not Professor Skogull with whom he shared coffee and discussions about their field every morning. "Murdered." 

"Gunned down right in front of us," Eric retorted bluntly. "Before she died Tebben was certain that this was the find of the century. I think Malcolm Industries murdered them all to keep it a secret." 

"Over this?" Frank reached for the artifact that Hans was working on because he was too stunned to think clearly.  He had intended to pick it up by the fossilized exterior but instead his fingertips grazed the smooth surface of red uncovered by Hans.  No sooner than his flesh had made contact, surge of heat passed through his skin. The pain came soon after, sharp and intense. 

"BLOODY HELL!" He shouted and released it immediately, allowing the artifact to fall on the floor, his fingertips stinging with pain. 

"Frank!" Hans cried out in concern. "What's wrong?" 

Frank saw the younger man, Jason reach to pick it up and immediately reacted. "Be careful! Don't touch the crystal!"

"What?" Jason stared at the Englishman who was clutching his hand, his faced etched in pain. 

"The bloody thing burns!" 

"Burn?" Eric exclaimed in astonishment.  "What you do mean burns?" 

"Look," Frank held out his hand and showed the Australian the fingers that had touched the exposed facet. 

Eric's eyes widened to see flesh blistering and though it was not a severe burn, it was still a burn, produced by an object could not be generating heat of any kind. However, even as the thought flashed across his mind, Eric remembered what Petra had said about it exuding energy levels that were not only unexplainable but also exceedingly high. She had thought it was a new source of power and while Eric had been skeptical about the possibility even after she had been murdered, he now wondered if she had not been correct after all. 

"This is insane," Eric stared to mutter. "How can a rock buried under the earth for so long be able to burn someone just by touch? Its impossible!" 

"You know why," Jason replied quietly. 

"I won't believe that!" Eric snapped, unaware that he and Jason had completely lost the two scientists in the room listening to the conversation. "Its ludicrous!" 

"What is?" Frank asked, beginning to empathize with Eric because the anxiety he saw on the Australian's face was genuine. Something was rattling this man badly. 

"Frank," Hans intervened, "look at this." The doctor drew his colleague into more familiar territory. 

He led Frank to the other side of the bench where the helmet had lain during the entire exchange.  To Frank, the design was unusual and he could not recognize it but it was hardly unusual. There were so much about the past that was shrouded in mystery and despite the efforts of the scientific community to explain everything logically, they could only do so with what evidence they had. The rest was simply speculation. 

"How old do you think this is?" Hans asked. 

Frank picked up the object and examined it.  He had been around prehistoric artifacts for most of his career and though the fossilization seemed consistent with some of the objects he had uncovered in that time, the logical part of his brain refused to entertain the notion.  This helmet was clearly made of steel and though a proper cleaning was required for them to get a better idea of its origins, one thing did strike him as odd. It was too large for a human skull.  Since his field was the study of hominids, that was the first thing that captured his notice. This helmet was too large for the skull of a human, however this was easily explainable. Poor craftsmanship but still it nagged at him, the amount of degradation in the steel. 

"If I did not know better, I would say pre-Calcolithic but that's impossible," Frank replied. "This is made of iron and the metal worked during that period was copper." 

"I got the confirmation from the lab an hour ago," Hans said proudly. "This object has a potassium argon dating of between 100 – 150 thousand years old." 

Frank's eyes widened. "That can't be." 

"It is Frank," Hans beamed like a happy child. "And that artifact which burned your fingers may even be older. The lab could not gain an accurate reading on it." 

Frank turned to Eric and Jason, hoping that they could tell him something that would refute Han's words but it was clear that even if Eric had difficulty accepting it, he believed everything the Professor had said because he had already heard it from Petra Tebben. 

 

"I'm guessing you're not going to be able to tell us what that is," Eric frowned, the answers that he and Jason had hoped to find were not forthcoming.  So much depended on their being able to understand the nature of the artifacts, mostly notably their lives. Eric felt a wave of disappointment knowing that they had come all this way for nothing.

"These things are never quick Eric," Hans said patiently, aware of how difficult it must be for someone not of the field to grasp the notion that artifacts could take years to decipher.  "We need to do more testing and now that Frank is here, we may get it to the bottom of what this is even sooner. It will take time but we will find your answers, I promise you."

 

Hans' words were sincere but Eric could tell by the skepticism in Frank's eyes about their chances to uncover the truth that the Professor was being optimistic at best.  Time, Eric thought himself cynically. Time was as priceless as the artifact Professor Skogull and Doctor Miller were so eager to decipher and Eric was gripped with the feeling that they did not have much of it to squander. 

***********

 The sun had begun descending from its noonday peak when the dark vehicles arrived at the university. 

Bearing little difference from their counterparts in Iceland, the sleek black Jaguars entered the main parking lot of the campus as if they were their animal namesakes, circling the dark bitumen before coming to a gradual halt. Their appearance captured the attention of anyone in proximity, the gleaming surface of polish metal catching the eye of bystanders under the dwindling sunlight.  Students noted in passing the arrival of the cars, some paused long enough to see the vehicle's halt, wondering if someone important was visiting the campus. 

They were soon to learn otherwise when they saw the five tall men that emerged in their black suits, their faces pasty and their eyes covered beneath sunglasses. It was impossible to look upon these men and not feel a shudder of some unexplainable fear and students who had paused to look soon found reason to be on their way again.  The men did not ask any questions, they did not need to and because they were not men anyway. 

The Nazgul did not like the sunlight even if they found no difficulty moving about in the waking hours. There was little need to ask for directions to their quarry because once again, the treasure in the possession of the humans call to them with a voice of its own.  The Nazgul could feel its immense power radiating outward and had only to follow it to its greatest concentration to find their prey.  The humans who possessed it had little inkling of its true nature and no idea that as long as they kept it within reach, the Nine would always find them. 

This time, there would be no failure. 

*************

With the presence of two extra people in the house, Miranda felt it prudent to make a visit to the local supermarket and replenish their food supplies. Being ex-military, rations were always a priority with her and that thinking had carried on even in this domestic situation.  It always amused her that what military men would call training, housewives called common sense. The mindset that most homemakers had the mental faculties of Lucille Ball when in truth, it was closer to James Bond since they had to know how to do  _everything_. 

Her guests had asked to accompany her on her shopping trip and once again, Miranda felt her head filling with questions she should not ask. Bryan had asked that they not ask questions but as Miranda saw their reaction to being inside the car and how they studied everything as if seeing it for the first time, her curiosity surfaced once more.  Who were they that Bryan should trust them so implicitly and why couldn’t they reveal their true origins, even if it was just the name of the place?  Frank had become conditioned to not ask questions because Bryan and while Miranda understood it to some degree, she could not deny that the lack of knowledge made her uncomfortable.

However, despite all her question about the two men in her house, there was one thing she knew for certain that had no basis for being but simply was. She trusted them.  When they claimed that they would not harm her family, she believed them. Miranda was able to see past most facades and yet when they said they could be trusted, she knew without doubt that they had not lied. There were very few people that could engender this sort of feeling from her. Bryan, most notably but certainly not strangers that had entered her life a short time ago with their origins a mystery and their behavior frankly odd. 

Even now, as Miranda put away the groceries, she glanced at the living room and saw Elladan in front of the television watching cartoons with another can of Coke in his hand. These people had a serious sugar craving, she had discovered since their arrival.  It was hard to believe they could be capable of keeping an intelligence operative safe from his enemies.  Elrohir was exploring Miranda’s piano in the corner of the room once more.  The way his fingers brushed the ivory keys experimentally and the manner in which he listened to the notes made Miranda think he had never seen the instrument before.

“Do you play?” She asked him. 

“No,” he raised his eyes to hers; “I do not.  This is yours?” 

“Yes,” Miranda nodded, “when I was a little girl, my mother insisted that my sister and I learn to play. I took it to but she was never very good.” 

“Your sister?” Elrohir asked somewhat fascinated by the whole notion of the shield maiden having a sister, “what is she like?” 

“Very different from me,” Miranda replied recalling the sister who believed life could not go on unless there was a shoe store in the close proximity and a good manicurists on speed dial. “Laura lives in Paris. She’s a magazine photographer, one of those jet setting types that fly from place to place nursemaiding anorexic models.” 

Elrohir had no idea most of what she said but he suspected that Miranda and her sister did not share a good relationship. “You are not close then.”

“We’re sisters,” she shrugged, “we don’t have to be close.” 

“That is unfortunate,” he replied. “Family should always remain so.” 

“I rather not,” she replied shortly, always getting defensive on the subject of her sister. “I don’t need to hear how I could have done anything with my life and decided to throw it away on being a housewife and a mother, or joining the before that.  I hear enough of that from my parents without needing to hear it from my sister, the Vogue photographer.”


	7. The Children of the Riddermark

Miranda stared at the crimson eyes before her in disbelief. 

Logic told her that what she was seeing was impossible but that she had seen it with her own eyes told her that it was very possible indeed. She had killed him.  She had put two bullets into his head and four more into his body and killed him.  Miranda may have been rusty with a gun but she knew that she had not missed. Every bullet had penetrated his flesh. She was as certain of this as the air in her lungs. Unfortunately, whether or not she had shot him did not seem to matter because at this instant, he was standing before her, large as life and very much alive. 

"I have waited a long time for this," he continued to speak, his low voice sending shivers through her skin. "I knew when I saw the hobbit that you will not be far behind.  That you are both here makes the moment far sweeter since I have no need to keep either of you alive." 

Miranda did not allow him to continue and promptly raised her gun to fire again, this time at point blank range. She pulled the trigger continuously, allowing the semi-automatic 9mm Lurz to do its worst as it emptied every bullet in its magazine into the creature before her. Miranda made every bullet count, sending him staggering backwards, his head snapping back and forth like a marionette under the ministrations of a clumsy puppeteer. The mask on his face peeled, white rubber shredding under the force of the projectiles. She saw him jerk before her spasmodically and waited to see if he would fall.  

He did not. 

Instead, after the discharge smoke had cleared and the room was bathed in the silence of astonishment, Miranda saw him straighten up and face her again. This time, there was no mistaking why he had not died, why bullets did not affect him.  The mask clung to his face in shreds of rubber, revealing his true nature.  His crimson eye had told her that he was not human but until this moment, she had not realized the true horror of what he was.  Beneath the mask, where there should have been skin and bone, flesh and muscle, there was nothing. 

She could see the mask clinging the back of his invisible skull. Its texture was just as ruined as it was in the front but there was nothing in between.  It was like looking through glass. 

"What are you?" She managed to say, her astonishment making her forget her situation. 

"Your death," he hissed and with that, lashed out his fist in a powerful blow.

Frank could only watch in horror as the creature standing before his wife, whatever it was hit Miranda with such force that she practically flew across the floor and smashed into a desk, collapsing it beneath her with her weight. 

"MIR!" He shouted, running forward before the words left his lips. Unfortunately, the enemy was determined to keep him in their presence and immediately closed in on him.  Cold hands grabbed him, refusing to let him go to Miranda who was still lying amongst the wreckage of the desk unmoving. They emphasized their menace by the gun barrel that was aimed in his direction by one of them.  Frank struggled to break free nonetheless, Miranda was too important to him to do anything else. 

"Let me go you bastard!" He shouted but the impassive masks were as unmovable as their grip upon him. They were determined to keep him restrained and Frank wondered what was so important about him that they were willing to kill all the others but leave him alive.  It surely could not just be about Bryan could it? 

Even if his protests felt on the deaf ears of his captors, Frank was by no means unheard. The Nazgul who were not restraining the archaeologists had their weapons trained on the remaining occupants in the room.  Elladan and Elrohir stood side by side, having armed themselves with some formidable knives in Miranda's kitchen prior to their arrival here.  The blades were hardly elven blessed and would do little against the Nazgul but at the moment the twins would take any advantage they could acquire.  At a later time when they had escaped, they would perform the elven blessing required on some appropriate weapons in order to defend themselves. 

The Nazgul with their weapons trained on the two sons of Elrond were somewhat distracted by what was happening between their leader, whose singular focus on Miranda left no doubt that he was once the Witch King of Angmar, whom Eowyn had slain at the Battle of Pelennor Fields.  Also it appeared that there was something in the room that they were interested in finding for their gazes appeared to be shifting between in three different directions.  Unfortunately, such distractions could result in fatal mistakes when dealing with two warriors as seasoned as Elladan and Elrohir. Already, Elrohir's hand was creeping towards the knife concealed in his clothing.  Elladan noted the intent in his brother's eyes and sought a more disabling solution.  He saw it an instant later and waited for Elrohir to proceed before taking advantage of it.  

The Witch King was making his way across the floor towards Miranda and Frank was struggling even harder to break free in order to help her.  The other two men in the room were similarly restrained with the Nazgul's weapons and the elves knew they had a narrow window of opportunity in which to act. Both familiar to Elladan or Elrohir but neither twin could place them at this moment. The thoughts of the elven brothers were still too fixed on the urgency of their situation and deadly threat to Miranda to be able to concentrate on anything else.  

It mattered little who they were, Elrohir thought to himself as he heard one of them shouting at the Nazgul to take something and leave, as long as they knew to act when the opportunity to escape presented itself. 

"I said kill them!" The Witch King shouted in an effort to silence the distraction caused by the humans.  It was the woman that he wanted to kill himself, Elrohir thought bitterly, the woman he would have unless they did something now. 

As the Nazgul turned to them, Elrohir pulled out the blade in his possession and flung it with deadly accuracy. The Nazgul nearest to him hissed in pain as the butcher's knife embedded itself in the center of its skull almost to the hilt.  The wraith screeched in pain, its invulnerability diminished considerably by the absence of Sauron feeing its power. While the weapons of men could not kill them, they could be hurt it seemed.  Elladan grabbed the metal stool and smashed it into the body of the other wraith, ensuring that the weapon in the creature's grip went flying. 

Jason leapt for the artefact the instant the two strangers on the other side of the room had acted, admiring them for their speed and their courage.  The creature nearest to him saw what he was doing and attempted to stop him. Gunfire exploded past his ear as Jason dove towards the bench and grabbed the artefact that had cost Hans Skogull his life, careful not to handle it by its facet, recalling what had happened to Frank Miller when he had made the effect. Fortunately, the artefact was still covered by a layer of fossilized stone and as soon as Jason grabbed a hold of it, he rolled of the bench and upended it so that it would take the brunt of the bullets.  Wooden splinters flew in all directions as the young man took cover behind it. 

However, the assassins were not about to let him use the table for shelter and moved to shove the bench away.  Jason reacted quickly, throwing his foot out and smashing the ball of his heel against the assassin's wrist. The creature recoiled his hand but did not falter.  Instead, the dark suited killer threw out a fist that connected with Jason's jaw and damn near broke it.  Jason felt pain flaring through his skull at the hard strike. He blinked away his pain and saw a hand reaching to grab him and knew that if he were to fall into the creature's grip, he would be done for.  Instinctively, out of sheer desperation, Jason scrambled to retrieve the artefact in his knapsack and grabbed it just as the hand was about to wrap its fingers around his arm. 

Pressing the facet side of the artefact into the creature's flesh, Jason saw the creature howl in pain.  He did not even know how it was possible for the artefact's heat to be felt through thick leather gloves and chided himself for forgetting that very important point when he had made this desperate bid to defend himself.  However it was possible mattered very little because the effect was undeniable.  The creature did nothing less than scream in pain. It was a sound unlike anything that Jason had ever heard, like a shriek one would hear from a banshee in the some dark, stygian tale.  It cut through the ears of everyone present and froze the other dark suited villains in their tracks.  The creature who suffered this agony, retreated, forgetting all about the gun as he clutched his hand in pain, the leather glove he was wearing unmarked somehow.   Jason could not understand it but then that was nothing new.  Since coming into contact with the artefact, confusion seemed to be the order of the day.

The artefact fell on the floor between it and Jason and as the younger man went to retrieve it, he noticed that it seemed darker somehow. The crimson had deepened in colour that it was almost black. He wondered if it was a trick of the light but knew it could not be.  In any case, Jason did not debate the matter. Picking it up carefully once more, after seeing what it was capable of doing, he placed it in the knapsack once more and looked up to find Eric.  

The two men who inspired this melee were making their way across the floor towards Frank.  Jason saw the gun the creature had dropped when he attacked it with the artefact.  Although he had never used one to defend himself, he did know how they worked.  He saw the assassins opening fire on the two men as they advanced towards Frank and aimed the gun in their direction, scrambling behind the table first.  His first impulse was to run but it appeared that this drama had suddenly widened in its scope and he was not about to leave without the others.  Pulling the trigger, bullets tore through the air and slammed into their bodies, halting their pursuit. They staggered once again by the impact of the projectiles but like before, did not fall.  Instead, they turned towards him. 

"Oh shit," Jason muttered. 

************

.

When Eric saw the blond woman smashing into the table, sending Frank into a near hysterical frenzy to reach her, he could not longer deny what Jason had been trying to tell him.  He saw the crimson eyes that Jason had seen in Hofskojull and there was no denying that it was real. Everything that Jason had claimed about these creatures was true and now Eric would have to accept it. His mind could no longer ignore the evidence of his eyes, anymore than he could ignore the fact that the woman had damn near emptied an entire clip into the leader of the assassins and he was still alive.  

If they wanted to get out of this nightmare alive, there was no other way but to accept it. 

When the creature had struck at the woman, flinging her aside like she was little more than a rag doll, everything went to completely hell.  Her two companions launched themselves at the enemy in a bold attack and the ensuing melee had ensured the outbreak of further pandemonium throughout the room. Gunfire exploded through the air, deafening their ears with its thunderous sound, shattering instruments and riddling the walls with bullets. Fragments of glass and plaster created a second front of deadly projectiles as the force of gunfire sent pieces everywhere. 

Eric crouched low, trying to seek out Jason in all this chaos and sighted the young cameraman with a gun in his hand.  Jason had come to him after serving in the New Zealand army so it did not surprise Eric that the young man knew how to handle the weapon.  Jason was firing at the enemy, trying to give the two men with long dark hair the appropriate cover needed to reach Frank. The archaeologist was still in the grip of his captors, who for some reason felt that he was the greater prize. Eric's mind was filled with questions on that point but suppose that the time for answers would come later, if they survived this. 

When he saw the leader of the assassins making its way towards the woman who had yet to get up, Eric was prompted into moving. Perhaps it was his natural inclination to come to the rescue of a lady or something more, he was not certain.  He only knew that he had to help her.  Eric's increased pace saw him reaching her first.  She was still lying amidst the wreckage of the table she had been thrown into, somewhat daze. She had begun to stir when he skidded next to her and he found a swell of admiration at the nerve she had displayed in facing the creature to begin with.  She had certainly fared better in the face off than poor Petra Tebben. 

"Come on luv," he said taking her arm, shifting his gaze anxiously between her and the advancing enemy, "you've got to get on your feet. He's coming." 

"What is he?" She managed to ask, shaking the disorientation out of her head. "I put an entire clip into him." 

"I don't know," Eric replied, offering her the most honest answer he could think of at the moment.  "We've got to get out of here." He insisted. 

"Where's Frank?" Miranda demanded, ignoring the stranger's plea for her to move and immediately searched the room for her husband.  She saw him an instant later, still within the grip of these dark suited monsters that could not be killed with bullets. If anything had the ability to chase away the fog in her brain it was the awareness of his life in danger. 

Eric did not have a chance to answer because he saw a shadow move over him and Miranda's gaze shifting past his shoulder. 

"The children of the Riddermark," the creature hissed. "Your brother cannot save you now shield bitch. I will kill him just as easily as I am going to kill you!" 

"Like bloody hell you will," Eric kicked out his foot and landed it on the assassin's knee.  The enemy staggered but did not fall; further adding further proof to Eric's belief that they were not dealing with a human but something else entirely.  Unfortunately, this realization did him little good because the creature was still standing and Eric had no idea how to hurt it, if it could be hurt at all. 

At that moment, he remembered the helmet that accompanied them throughout their journey to Norway.  He had little more than a second to ascertain where it was before the creature locked his arm around his throat and slammed him into the wall. Eric felt his head smash again the hard surface, a wave of pain flaring across his skull, pulling a blanket of disorientation around his senses. Somehow through this haze, he saw the helm. It was lying on the floor next to Hans Skogull's corpse, having fallen there during the battle. 

Miranda saw the stranger who roused her in the grip of the creature. She saw him struggling to break free and knew that if she did not do something; he would be dead in seconds. Elladan and Elrohir had reached Frank and were doing battle with the creature's companions.  Her husband was not exactly freed but his escape was being attended to and she recalled overhearing the monster making it known that they wanted Frank alive.  She looked at the man who had tried to help her and felt a surge of affection for him, not unlike what she felt when Aksel had been tormenting her sons, inspiring in her the same fierce protection. 

She ran forward and threw a powerful kick into the creature's side. Miranda had a sense that it would not be enough to hurt him permanently but the creature still had to adhere to some laws of physics.  The force she was putting into that one kick would move him, no matter what he was. Her foot landed against ribs and under normal circumstances would have shattered the bone and sent fragments through organs.  The training women that received in the SAS were extremely different to what was learnt by men.  Men did not have the physical disadvantage of the weaker sex and since women agents would most likely be dealing with male enemies, their combat training was modified to suit.  Thus Miranda not only knew how to kill but she knew how to ensure that the initial strikes be absolutely disabling. 

If the creature had been human, he would most likely be spiting blood from internal injuries. 

The strike caused him to release the Australian who slumped to the floor when the enemy released his grip. Miranda faced the creature once more, no longer taking into account that he had no face and ignoring the grotesque image that was his shredded mask over invisible flesh. It looked like someone had torn apart a human skull and scooped out all the insides.  The image of him was going to stay with her a long time. 

"For so long I have searched for you," it said malevolently, "I knew when I saw the hobbit you would be here.  I have waited for an eternity to kill you, sister daughter of Theoden, I shall savour the moment just as long." 

"I don't think so," Miranda retorted, ignoring his threats since it was more important to her to neutralize him rather than to bandy words about things she did not understand.  

However, the creature showed surprising speed and grabbed her leg, spinning her around in mid air before allowing her to slam into the floor. Miranda felt glass and plaster biting into her skin but it was not in her nature to let scrapes slow her down. She flipped onto her feet once more and threw a fist into its face, hoping to affect it in someway but once again, it caught her fist as easily as it had caught her leg. 

"You will have to do better than that," he sneered. "You no longer have the advantage of Pelennor." 

With that he swung out in a backhanded blow that struck her across the cheek. The force of it sent Miranda sprawling, her jaw burning in pain and she could taste blood in her mouth.  She landed on the floor hard. Her body crying out in protest at the painful landing. She did not linger in that position long because her instincts were awakened, despite a decade of being dormant.  While she was probably a little rusty in some aspects of her former training, Miranda was rather surprised by how swiftly it had all come back to her when she needed it.  She scrambled to her feet, preparing to launch another attack when suddenly, she heard the Australian call her. 

"Use this!" He shouted as she turned to him.  He was standing next to Hans' dead body and was carrying in his hands what looked like a helmet. When he had her attention, he flung the object to her and Miranda caught it easily, a look of question in her eyes. 

"Hit him with that!" Eric shouted. 

Miranda was sceptical about the effectiveness of this tarnished medieval helmet but did not have time to debate the matter as the creature came at her again. Instinctively, Miranda used the helmet to block the blow that would have shattered her nose if it had connected. The creature's fist landed against the metal surface and a most remarkable thing happened before her astonished eyes. His fist sizzled like his skin had just the surface of a heated skillet. She saw him retract his hand and scream in pain, the first real evidence she had been given that this thing could be harmed. Whatever this helmet was, it was capable of hurting him. 

The realization had little more than a second to infuse itself into Miranda's consciousness before she exploited it. Clutching the helmet, as she would hold a bowling ball or a discus, Miranda swung the helmet at the enemy and struck him across his featureless face with a loud whack. The effect was immediate as the same sickening sizzle was heard. He howled in pain, a bone chilling sound that only made her hit him again in the same place. He reeled in pain and his agony gave her even greater incentive to keep striking. She slammed the helmet into his ribs and this time; the desired effect was produced, causing him to double over in pain.  When he was on his knees, she brought the helm against his skull, sending him flat onto the floor; his face grinding into the debris covered surface. She pressed her knee against the back of his neck and kept the helmet poised above his head as she shouted to the creatures holding Frank. 

"LET HIM GO!" She ordered, eyes blazing, showing them that she would smash the helmet into their leader's skull if they did not comply. 

Elladan and Elrohir took the opportunity to wrestle Frank away from the Nazgul while they were battling with their decision.  Without Sauron in this world, their powers were greatly diminished. In the days of old, not even an elven-blessed weapon could stop these creatures permanently and the twins had no idea how Miranda was able to capacitate the Witch King. However, they did not waste the opportunity. Picking up another stool, Elladan flung it against the back of the beast determined to keep Frank its prize. While lacking the power of Miranda's unexpected weapon, it did however disorientate the enemy enough for Frank who was already fighting hard to break free, escape his grip. 

Frank saw the other creature lunging at him, to regain their grip but the archaeologist was not about to become captive again. He ducked quickly, scrambling across the floor on his hands and knees as the creature slammed on the ground.  Like a spitting feline, the dark suited killer was soon on his feet, closing the distance between Frank and himself.  Frank saw him advance a few more steps before a hail of bullets halted him in his tracks.  Frank saw the bullets tearing across his chest and could only offer a nod of gratitude at the young man who had fired them from across the room. 

"Frank we must leave!" Elrohir's voice suddenly exploded in his ears. "These creatures cannot be killed!" 

"What?" Frank looked up at him as Elrohir pulled him to his feet. He was right of course. Frank had seen his wife empty and entire magazine of bullets into one of their chests and the bastard had still stood up.  Questions filled his mind but the urgency in Elrohir's eyes told him that they would have to wait for the moment. 

"Yes, alright," Frank nodded dumbfounded. 

"Miranda!" Elladan was shouting at his wife. "Leave him! We must go!" 

Miranda saw Frank in Elrohir's hands and felt a flood of relief.  Even though she had no idea what they were, the strategist that she was trained to be could see that they were momentarily disorientated. Perhaps they did not expect such a ferocious defence from those in the room, whatever they reason, she assessed immediately that whatever advantage she and the others had, was temporary. It was wise to leave while they could. As it was, the commotion being caused by gunfire was going to bring the authorities and Miranda's mind was already wondering how they were going to explain all this. 

The creature beneath her was gaining strength; she could feel the swell beneath her knees, the growing climax of rage and power that was even now bursting its banks. Elladan was right, they had to go and now. She would figure out what it was she had fought later, right now they had to get away from here while they still could.  She brought the helmet down against the back of the creature's skill once more, certain that she would do little more than keep it disorientated.  He uttered a grunt of pain as Miranda climbed off him and started to run towards Frank who was being ushered out of the room by Elrohir. 

Suddenly the creature's hand lunged out and wrapped a fist around her ankle, pulling back hard enough to bring her down against the floor. Miranda felt the side of her head slamming against the floor but this time she was running on adrenaline and recovered faster.  She saw the creature rising to his feet and saw her gun within reach. Scrambling for it, Miranda was prepared to shoot when she remembered that she had put entire clip into the thing and it had not slowed it down in the slightest. Checking her gun, she saw that she had one shot left in the breach but it might as well have been empty for all the good it would do.  Suddenly her eye caught sight of something else and it gave her an idea. 

"You, get the hell out of here!" She shouted at the Australian. "Take your friend with you!" 

"Not without you!" He answered back, his eyes widened with anxiety because he could see the creature was not going to let them go so easily. 

"DO IT!" Miranda fairly snarled. 

He swore angrily but instead of leaving, he retrieved the helmet that had fallen to the floor first as Miranda turned to face the assassins who were now seeing their quarry about to escape and were about to give chase.  Miranda paid little attention to any of them, having sighted what she needed a few seconds earlier and needed to acquire if any of them were to leave this room alive.  She hardly noticed the Australian grabbing the young man who had been providing Elladan and Elrohir with cover, nor was she concerned with Frank because her husband was already out of the room and as far as she was concerned, better off than the rest of them. 

"Miranda!" Elladan was shouting at her, urging her to the door. 

"GO!" Miranda ordered. "I'll be right behind you." 

"I think not," the enemy hissed behind her. She did not have to look over her shoulder to know that he was there.  Although Miranda did not understand it, there was something altogether personal about his hatred for her. Unfortunately, it would have to be a question for another time.  She picked up the object she had sighted earlier, concealed beneath a workbench. It was a perfectly routine piece of equipment in laboratory but at this moment, it was their only means of escape.  

Without saying a word, she smashed the gas cylinder into his body, not caring whether or not it would harm him as the helmet had done. The weight of the cylinder used to give flame to the Bunsen burner on the bench, caused the enemy to stagger backward. The others were closing in on her and Miranda knew that if she did not make it to the door, she would never reach it.  Running towards the door, she was almost to the exit when she paused and saw them following her closely. 

"Hey!" She shouted at the being who wanted her dead so badly. "Catch!" 

Miranda did not wait for him to catch it before she fired the last bullet in her gun. No sooner than she had pulled the trigger, she spun on her heels and launched herself through the open doorway, not waiting to see what would happen when the projectile struck the hard, metal shell of the cylinder. The explosion that followed sent a blast of heat washing across her back and the shockwave aided her leap through the door.  She slammed into the wall of the outside corridor and landed on the floor in time to see a ball of fire coming towards her. Hardly pausing to take breath, Miranda was on her feet and rushing to avoid the flames.  She could see Frank and the others along corridor, her husband was not about to go anywhere without her and was running back to ensure that she had made her escape. 

Miranda looked over her shoulder and saw the gust of flames escaping the lab and wondered if fire alone was enough to kill those creatures.  She rather doubted it but hoped that the explosion would give them the time to make their escape.  She took a moment to catch her breath but suspected that time was against them. She knew now without any doubt that this was the enemy Bryan was trying to protect them from and now that they had been discovered, Miranda knew they could not stay here. 

"Mir!" Frank ran to his wife, grateful to see her.  If it was not for Elladan making certain that he was ushered out the door, Frank would never have left her alone in that room to face those things, whatever they were.  As it was, he had been quite astonished by how she had managed to save them all, considering how close everyone in the room had come to dying in a hail of bullets. 

"Frank!" Miranda exclaimed as they met in a tight embrace.  For a moment, the peril their lives had suddenly been plunged into was forgotten. There was only the gratitude that both of them had emerged from the melee unscathed. "Are you alright?" 

"I was going to ask the same of you!" He replied, trying to wrap his mind around the fact that the mother of his children had managed to defeat those creatures with almost effortless skill.  It was a side of her he had never seen before and Frank was trapped between anxiety and amazement at what she had been capable of. 

"I'm fine," she said and noted that his face was frowning in concern at the bruises across her jaw and the side of her face. "Its nothing that won't heal. Frank we can't stay here. I don't know what those things were but I don't think I was able to stop them permanently." 

"You're right," Frank agreed, brushing aside his reservations about Miranda for the moment because they needed to leave. The hallway was filling with smoke and the others were making their way out of the building. No doubt the commotion of gunfire and the explosion was going to bring others to this place and at the moment, Frank had no wish to answer any questions when he had so many himself that needed answering. "Let's get to the house. We'll figure out what to do there." 

"I don't think that's safe," she answered as he took her hand and Miranda noted that Frank tried not to notice the gun that was clutched in the other. 

"I agree but it will give us a chance to think about what we're going to do next," Frank replied. 

"We have to get to the school," Miranda declared as she and Frank ran down the hallway, to join their guests and the other participants of this drama.  "We need to pick up Pip and Sam." 

"We'll do that but it was just bad luck that those things found me," Frank replied as they jogged down the corridor, leaving the ever thickening smoke.  In the distance, Frank and Miranda could hear the siren from fire engines and police cars growing louder. "I don't think they expected to find me here and if that's the case, they may not know about the boys either." 

"It won't take them long to find out," she said grimly. 

"Assuming they managed to survive the blast," Frank looked down the corridor and saw only smoke and fire emanating from the doorway of the lab. The flames were not content to remain content within the confines of the laboratory and were making their way out of the room into the corridor. It would not be long before the entire faculty building was consumed in fire.  As it was, the explosion had probably damaged the sprinkler system unleashing the full might of the inferno upon the building. 

"I don't doubt that they did," Miranda declared, meeting his eyes with a gleam that was more than just a possibility but rather a certainty. 

"Somehow, I didn't think it was going to be that easy," Frank sighed. 

************* 

When Irina Sadko received the telephone call from one of the Nine informing them that Bryan Miller's brother had been found, she was not surprised to hear that once again the Nazgul had failed in their duty to retrieve the human.  From within the confines of her Paris office, she was seriously beginning to question how David had managed to get anything accomplished with such incompetents as his servants.  The wraiths' connection to each other provided the phantom creatures with a kind of collective consciousness that allowed one to know the thoughts of the other even when they were separated by distance. Thus while five of their number was engaged in the battle to retrieve Frank Miller, the others who had been lying in wait outside the building were being provided with new instructions as Irina ruminated on this new information. 

It did not take her long to discover that there was a Frank Miller listed in the University of Oslo's faculty personnel directory.  Thanks to the marvels of the Internet and computers in general, she was soon able to discern that Frank Miller had a family residing with him at the campus that included a wife named Miranda and two sons, Samuel and Philip, aged five and seven respectively.  By the time that she was told that the Nine had not captured the archaeologist and were forced to flee the scene after local authorities were drawn to the gun battle that had taken place during the effort, Irina decided to attack the problem differently. 

Instead of chasing their prey half way across Europe, there was a much simpler way to bring them to her, now that she was aware of all the facts.  While their efforts to date had not impressed Irina very much, she did know that they were relentless and they could move quickly when the need demanded it. For her plan to work now, they would have to exert those abilities with absolutely no margin for error. 

This was to be a race and if the Nine or Irina ever wished to retrieve David Saeran, then they would have to win. 

**************

 

_He was dreaming._

_It was an old dream, one that he had many times in his life.  He learned long ago not to fear them because mum always said that dreams lived only in your head and they could not exist outside unless you allowed it.  His dreams were in actual truth nightmares but fortunately, it was not in Sam's nature to fear what he did not believe was real.  For a boy his age, he was surprisingly pragmatic about such things. Dad said that he acquired that trait from his Uncle Bryan whom Sam remembered only vaguely because the man never visited that often and when he did, seemed terribly uncomfortable around his young nephews._

_Whatever the reason, whenever Sam was visited by these nightmares, he looked upon them with a sense of unreality though at the time, their ability to frighten him was considerable.  Still, he told himself that these were things with had real power over him and when he awoke, they soon faded out of memory. The nightmares left only one vivid image in the waking world that Sam refused to indulge in any shape or form, no matter how much he tried to dispel it. The memory was like a thorn in his mind, a jagged nail that would make him bleed if he looked too closely at it.  The dreams did not plague him often so the image was shunted deep inside the recesses of his psyche, to the place children hid all things that frightened them, even when they were as brave as Sam._

_The image of riders in black._

_On this occasion, he dreamed he was walking on an endless road.  On previous occasions, the road stretched across the barren wasteland of a treeless plain, where the soil on the ground felt like ash and he could feel sharp stones digging into his feet. Other times, it was a dark forest with big looming trees and shadows everywhere.   Today, it was the latter and the forest seemed even more pervading if such a thing was possible.  He was filled with a deep sense of urgency to keep moving and although Pip sometimes appeared in the dream with him, today there was no sign of his brother, only the other._

_Always the other._

_The other, whom Sam could never remember well enough to recall clearly when he was awake, was also here.  He knew nothing about his companion except that every instinct in his bones told him that when they were together, he was exactly where he ought to be.  It was odd, this feeling he felt towards this unknown face that was deeper than friendship, greater than love, a sense that at the other's side was where Sam belonged and where he would always be because that was the cosmic design of his existence. His young mind could not fully understand the enormity of it but of this one thing he had no doubt._

_He dreamed they were running through the darkness. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest and the fear rose up from the pit of his stomach with such intensity that he wanted to scream.  Fear was not a feeling that Sam was accustomed to experiencing or admitting to but when he was in this dream, there was no ability in him to control it.  It washed over him in unrelenting waves of terror and the threat that loomed in the back of his mind was no childish fear that one might experience hiding from a bully, this was a different kind of fear.  It was dark and powerful and it reeked of evil as if evil were something real not spoken about in churches or by the superstitious._

_This was real evil and it had to do with the dark denizens of the night who were almost always pursuing them in the dreamscape._

_Wearing dark cloaks and moving through the trees like a shadow, Sam could feel their presence encroaching upon him.  The cold icicle that ran up his spine had little to do with the chill of the night air and everything to do with his fear.  He could feel the earth under his bare feet and the sound of hooves beating against the dirt.  Leaves rustled in the branches of trees, shaken by the gust of wind moving across the land.  It seemed to grow stronger as dirt and fallen leaves became caught in the vortex of the gale and ahead was more of the wood, sinister and dark._

_“Come on Sam,” the other said. “We’ve got to make the river.”_

_Sam turned to his companion and tried to speak but words left him when he saw the branches of a large shrub part at the sudden appearance of a black horse.  The animal’s head reared up upon seeing them, its body raising off the ground as it stood on its hindquarters.  For a moment, the braying sound escaping it did not at all resembled the neighing of a horse but rather the screech of something terrible and vile.  Seated in the saddle, appearing even more fearsome than the steed itself was a figure cloaked in black. The fabric of its garment was blacker that the night and swallowed up all light around it.  There was no face that looked at them from beneath the hood of its cloak and Sam was struck by the irrational fear that if they were to pull that hood back, there would be horror beyond his ability to describe._

_He felt a hand grab him and shouted at him to run.  Blinded by terror, Sam ran following the voice as they tore through the woods, not caring about the branches that lashed at them as they race through the darkness.  All they cared about was the sound of horses in pursuit and the screeching that told them that the enemy was near._

_“Don’t look back Sam!” The voice shouted again. “Don’t look back!”_

_Sam felt his heart about to explode in his chest and tried to obey the command. However, the fear was too much for him and it compelled him to turn. He looked over his shoulder unwisely and was confronted by the image of them, closing the distance._

_The Nine, Sam thought unconsciously. They were called the Nine._

_“SAM!” He heard the other shouting at him desperately. “Come on! Sam!”_

_***********_

“SAM!”

Sam opened his eyes and found himself the center of attention as all eyes in the classroom were upon him.  For a moment, he had no idea where he was and when his senses returned to him was rather grateful that he was sitting at his desk in school, not running for his life from some fading terror in his dreams.  Sam could feel beads of perspiration running down his forehead and took a deep breath in order to steady his pounding heart.  For a moment, he could do nothing but revel in the sensation of gratitude that he was safe and away from that nightmarish image even if it was fading fast in the waking world. 

“Sam, I asked you a question,” the voice demanded once more.

 Sam found himself staring at the rather irate features of Mrs. Edlestein; his arithmetic teacher ho had undoubtedly asked him a question while he had dozed off in her class.  Having no idea of what she had inquired of him, Sam could do nothing but look blankly at her. Swallowing thickly, he tried to gather his composure so that he could offer her a suitable response but found it difficult to do so when the other students were sniggering at his floundering efforts to answer. 

“Could you repeat the question Mrs. Edlestein?” He asked after a moment. 

The woman in her late forties with blond hair pulled into a severe bun stared at him behind equally severe glasses, thinned her lips into a frown.  “I asked you Sam,” she said with impatience, “what is five times two?” 

“Ten?” Sam answered after a moment of thought.  Multiplication was not something he was good at and prayed that he would be spared the humiliation of being wrong. 

“That’s right,” she replied, clearly unhappy that he had managed to answer her question after his unsatisfactory behavior. “Sit down.” 

Sam sat down on his seat, feeling his cheeks burn with embarrassment and was rather grateful when the bell rang and it was time to go home. While he did not remember the dream in great detail, it had unsettled him and he suddenly wanted very much to hear his mum’s comforting words. Whenever he felt this way, she would wrap her arms around him and give him a little hug and a kiss on the forehead, telling him that nothing could hurt him when he was awake.  She would not allow it and when mum said things like that, Sam could very well believe it.

 

Gathering his schoolbag, he made the exodus with the rest of the class and entered the hallway.  Pip would be waiting for him in the playground and once he collected his brother, they would go to the front of the school and wait for mum to arrive to take them home. It was a ritual they practiced everyday and made a good deal smoother after mum’s little talk with Aksel, who ensured that the Miller boys were given a very wide berth. 

Emerging from the building, Sam cast his gaze across the manicured lawns of the school grounds and saw his younger brother playing with some other children on the monkey bars.  Pip was dangling off the ground when he caught sight of Sam and immediately waves enthusiastically at his approach.  

Climbing off the contraption, Pip knew that Sam did not like to linger when they had to be picked up mostly because mum worried if they were late and Sam hated seeing mum that way.   Pip found dad easier to understand even though he loved mum very much.  Their dad knew so many things and there were things he did not keep secret but explained to Pip in loving detail.  He taught Pip that the world was very, very old and that there were no mysteries, just fact hidden. Pip loved watching his father work. He loved the way Frank would sit at the table with his books and stare endlessly at rock that had no meaning for him but spoke to his father in a language of its own.  Sometimes his father tried to explain to him this strange language and though most of it was beyond his understanding Pip rather liked it that dad had taken the time to try. 

As far as Pip Miller was concerned, his father was the smartest man in the world. 

“What’s the matter?” Pip asked as he grabbed his books and joined his brother beyond the playground area.  He could tell when Sam was upset and the slight shadow over his brother’s face indicated to him that there was something amiss. 

“I had that dream again,” Sam explained because they were brothers and there were no secrets between them. 

“Was I in it this time?” Pip asked, trying to sound understanding but managed only to appear enthused over his role in the drama. 

“No,” Sam shook his head. “Just me.” 

There were moments when he could almost remember that he was not alone in the dreamscape but the sensation was too vague for him to articulate clearly. 

“Are you okay?” Pip asked with concern. 

“I’m fine,” Sam lied, wishing very much to see mum so she could make him feel better. 

They walked to the front of the school and sat on the stone bench that faced the street where they usually waited for mum to arrive in the family car.  Although it was late afternoon, it was still bright out and the street was busy.  People were moving up and down the sidewalk on their way to other places and the roads were filled with cars, honking at each other as they traveled down the tar to destinations unknown. Sam could hear sirens in the distance though he could not see the fire engines that made them. Like all children, the bright red trucks fascinated him and he craned his neck to catch sight of them as they went on their way to carry out their important jobs.  Unfortunately, the sound was distant and seemed to be heading away from them. 

“Look,” Pip who was seated next to him on the bench pointed to the road. “It’s a James Bond car.” 

Sam followed the direction of his brother’s gaze and saw a sleek, dark vehicle that looked a great deal fancier than the one driven by the superspy, pulling up at the curb, not far from where they were seated.  The windows of the vehicle were tinted black and the chrome of its headlights and fender gleamed under the afternoon sky. It was a very impressive car Sam thought and wondered which one of his classmates was being collected by his parents in such grandeur.  Cars like this had chauffeurs, Sam was sure. On television, a man in a dark suit who said very little and went by the name of James almost always accompanied them. 

The doors of the vehicle swung open on either side and curiosity held both the boys’ gaze as the occupants emerged. Two pairs of men emerged from both the open doors, clad in dark suits, wearing hats and sunglasses. For a moment, Sam was struck by the memory of the Matrix and those terrible villains that had stalked Keanu Reeves for a good deal of the film. Something about them sent a chill through his bones as he saw them stepping onto the curb.  The uneasiness he felt in his dream started to take on a more urgent shape and Sam was trembling even though he did not know why. 

“Sam,” Pip turned to his brother, sensing the tremors in his skin since he was sitting next to Sam. “What’s the matter?” 

The mention of his name made one of the men turn sharply and stare at him even though they should have been too far away to be overheard. Yet Sam knew with a certainty he could not explain, that they had heard Pip’s words. He felt his breath catch and was gripped with an irrational fear as the others turned to him as well, staring.  Suddenly, they were no longer walking towards the school but heading in Sam and Pip’s direction. Sam watched their progress and across the curb, watched them close the distance, their expressionless face fixed upon him.   They walked forward purposefully and Sam found the overwhelming urge to run rising up inside of him like froth spilling out of a champagne bottle.

 Something inside him snapped.

 “Let’s go,” he said getting off the bench, his fingers fumbling for the strap of his knapsack.

“Go where?” Pip stared at him, sensing none of the things that he did. “We’re not suppose to go anywhere. Mum said we have to wait here for her. She’ll be cross.”

 “PIP!” Sam hissed. “We have to go now!”

Pip grabbed his bag, confused by the anxiety in his brother’s voice but to accustomed to following Sam’s lead to disobey.

Sensing that their quarry was about to run, the men in the dark suit bolted forward and closed the distance between themselves and the children before either could turn to run.  The Nazgul swept the children up in their arms easily, for they were very small and were incapable of providing a formidable struggle, though the older of the two certainly fought hard to break free. Although their number was incomplete, the Nine recognized one of the two and if their master had been here, the boy would have made a very nice gift to the dark lord.

Sam stared at the reflection in those dark sunglasses as he felt the cold hand holding him in the air by the collar of his shirt and suddenly, understood why he was so frightened.

_Riders in black._

He did the only to be done by a child facing the knowledge that his worst nightmare had become reality; he screamed.

 

************

Faster Frank!" Miranda ordered, her eyes staring frantically out the windscreen, her fingers digging into the dashboard of the car as she leaned forward in her seat, as if that would bring her closer to her children.

"I'm going as fast as I can without getting us killed," Frank retorted promptly, his eyes fixed on the road ahead.  He could understand Miranda's fear because the same panic was coursing through his veins as he directed their jeep through the meandering streets of Oslo's city centre. The idea of those creatures anywhere near his boys made Frank jam the accelerator almost to the floor of the vehicle, forcing the jeep to surge through the traffic with speed enough to kill should it collide into anything or anyone in its path. 

Miranda did not speak because she was constantly craning her neck out of the window to seek out the roofline of the school that would indicate to her that they were nearing their destination. As the car drove past the tree-lined streets framing the businesses and shops in the area, Miranda could not dispel this feeling of blanket terror that gripped her insides. Those creatures had killed Hans without a second thought and were prepared to do the same to her and everyone else in the room save Frank.  Whatever their agenda was, Miranda was determined that her children did not become part of it.  If that thing had hated her with so much venom, she dreaded to think what it would do to Sam and Pip because she was their mother. 

"Stop the car!" She barked when the school came into view and barely waited for Frank to pull the car to a stop before she jumped out of her seat into the sidewalk.  Miranda did not run, she broke into a full sprint and raced down the sidewalk, her blond hair following her like a banner of gold.  She could see the school rushing up to greet her and the bench where her sons usually waited for her to pick them after school coming into sight. She had little time to register the fact that it was empty when she heard Pip's terrified scream across the walk. 

"MUMMY!" 

Miranda froze in horror as she saw Sam and Pip struggling hard to escape the dark suited villains as they swept both her children into the black jaguar.  Her heart stop beating for a second and the panic that had been fraying the edges of her consciousness had risen up like bile inside her. The fear of seeing her children in the power of those creatures was even more terrifying than the ordeal she had endured at Belfast at the hands at the IRA. It drained the soul of the ability for reason and filled her with blind, paralysing panic. 

"PIP!" She screamed as she saw her youngest being ushered kicking and screaming into the car. 

Frank halted in his steps as he heard his wife cry out in a voice he had never heard her utter and was even more unbelievable in light of what he had seen her do earlier today. When he reached her side and saw what she did, he could understand her fear but Frank was able to surmount the wall of panic that had hindered her because his sons needed one of their parents to be in their right mind to act. 

"DAD!" He heard Sam shout before his son disappeared into the car and the slamming door muffled any more of his cries. 

Running faster than he had ever run in his life, Frank raced towards the car and reached the vehicle just as its engines roared to life. He could hear Sam and Pip screaming from behind the glass, he could hear the pounding on the other side of the tinted window and felt the same black well of despair as Miranda when his efforts to open the door failed. Pulling hard at the handle, he would have torn it off its hinges if he possessed the strength but could not open it as it was locked from the inside. He was still wrestling with it when the car started pulling away from the kerb. 

"SAM! PIP!" Frank shouted impotently as he saw the dark vehicle speed away from him.  

Turning on his heels, Frank was not ready to give up, not yet.  He saw Miranda weeping and wished he could console her but there was no time for that, not if they wanted to help Pip and Sam. 

"Mir!" He grabbed her hand and began dragging her towards the jeep. "We don't have time for this.  We need to follow that car if we're going to get them back." 

"Oh Frank," she stammered, "they're gone!" 

"They'll stay gone if you don't help me!" He said harshly, hating to be so brutal with her but their sons were in danger and this emotional display would not help them. 

Frank's tone snapped Miranda out of her panic and she met his eyes as they reached the jeep. For a split second, she saw his fear, saw his own terrible panic at the possibility of losing their sons and knew that if he could contain it to do what was necessary, then she had damn well better do the same and help him.  He was right; recriminations and grief could come later. While there was still a chance to get them back, she had to pull herself together. 

"You drive," she said as she climbed into the car. 

Frank gave her a little smile and slid into the driver's seat.  Miranda pulled out the gun that was tucked in the waistband of her jeans and reached into her pocket to retrieve the spare shells she had put there when she left the house.  Loading the gun as he took the jeep away from the kerb, she wound the window all the way down and leaned out of the window to catch side of the dark Jaguar that had stolen away half their family. 

"Can you see them?" Frank asked as he alternated glances between her and the road ahead. 

"Yes!" Miranda exclaimed excitedly as she saw the Jaguar reaching the end of the street. "They're turning into the highway." 

"Hold on!" He ordered as he jammed his foot on the accelerator and caused the engines beneath them to roar loudly.  Shifting the gearstick, the jeep surged forward through the maze of cars on the road, weaving in and out of the traffic with no thought of safety or rules for that matter.  Horns honked angrily at them while Miranda shouted at people to get clear.  When an obstruction on the road threatened to bring the car to a halt, Frank directed the jeep onto the sidewalk and continued driving. 

Miranda could still see the Jaguar and knew that they were closing the distance between the two vehicles. Frank's impressive if wholly illegal driving abilities was narrowing the gap between them and she knew that he was driven by the same instinct that she was.  She was retreated into the car when the jeep was forced back onto the road, slamming into a small Fiat as it crossed onto the tar. The other car veered off the road, ploughing into a newsstand on the sidewalk.  She hoped no one was hurt as newspapers went flying through the air and the entire structure collapse around the vehicle.  Frank hardly seemed to notice the commotion he was causing, intent only on reaching the black Jaguar. 

He ploughed into a Mercedes and sent it skidding across the road to smash against another parked car, allowing the jeep to finally manoeuvre into position directly behind the Jaguar.  Frank could see the tinted glass and even though it was impossible to hear anything but the roar of engines and wind rushing past his ears, he swore he could hear Sam and Pip's small fists beating against the windows.  That sound was almost as paralysing to him as Miranda seeing her children in the hands of those monsters. 

"Can you get a clear shot?" He demanded not at all thinking twice about making the request. 

"I'll try!" She said taking a careful aim with the gun. 

Miranda was unafraid of whether or not she could hit the target. She had was more than capable of riddling the car with bullets but her hesitation was borne out of the fear that those bullets might hurt Sam or Pip. Aiming carefully, she trained her sights on the Jaguar's tires and pulled the trigger, hoping that at least one of the projectiles fired would halt the vehicles advance. Contrary to popular belief, it was an extremely difficult shot to make and as gunfire erupted, she saw the bullets creating sparks across the lower edge of the car.  Bullet holes appeared in the body and she heard the sound of ricocheting bullets impacting on the hubcaps.  However, none of this reached the tyres and the Jaguar was speeding up, being more than capable of outdistancing the jeep. 

Miranda kept firing, shredding the back of the car with more bullets, causing the boot to fly up like an open flap swaying against the wind.  The Jaguar was starting to pull away and Miranda felt her heart sink knowing that it had more than enough speed to escape. 

"FASTER FRANK!" She shouted, continuing to fire, sending bystanders on the road fleeing to escape the deadly barrage while other cars on the road veered away from them causing more accidents behind them. 

The Jaguar sped across an intersection and Frank revved the engines even further, sending the jeep across the juncture in close pursuit.  All he could see on the road was the car that was stealing his children away, nothing else registered, not until he heard Miranda screaming and the bellowing horn of a large truck about to slam into them. Frank tried to avoid the collision, spinning the steering wheel hard so that the jeep would be moving parallel to the truck instead of crashing into its side. He saw Miranda fall back into the seat next to him as the side of the jeep smashed into the truck and flipped over. 

There was a moment of confusion when the world seemed to spin and he recalled shouting at Miranda to hold on.  His head slammed into the back of his seat and the sound of glass shattering filled his ears.  The jeep rolled only twice but it was enough to cause significant buckling on the entire framework. Airbags immediately swelled to life within the car, protecting them from both serious injury in the violent tumbling. The jeep landed on its wheels once more with the horn blaring and the smell of oil and gasoline heavy in the air. They could hear no trickle of escaping fuel which was one consolation at least  Time seemed to slow as the car came to a standstill and for a few minutes there was only deathly silence within the ruined compartment where they were still trapped. 

"Miranda," Frank croaked as he turned to his wife who appeared somewhat dazed. "Are you alright?" 

"Yes," she answered sedately and as Frank's vision cleared, he saw that she was not looking at him but rather past the shattered glass of the windscreen to the road ahead.  He did not have to ask what she was staring at because he could see for himself.  The widening gap between the wreckage of the jeep and the Jaguar was more than simple distance.  He felt his stomach hollow with the same agony that was reflected in her eyes when he saw the Jaguar was beyond their reach. 

"Oh Frank," she started to sob and it was a very disconcerting sound coming from her. He had never known her lose control like this and the tears that washed her cheeks was almost as painful for him as knowing that he had been unable to stop those monsters from taking his children. 

"We lost them," she wept, "we lost our babies." 

Frank's jaw clenched as he wrestled with his own emotions, reaching towards her to offer what comfort he could from their terrible failure and hoping that she could offer him the same as well. 

"We'll get them back Mir," he said hoarsely, his eyes glistening with moisture as he saw the Jaguar disappearing in the distance. "I promise you, we'll get them back.


	8. Awakening

Elladan knew from the instant Frank and Miranda had returned that they had failed to reach their children in time.

Miranda seemed utterly devastated; her bold determination was now replaced by open despair. He had only to look into her eyes to see evidence of the tears shed before this moment and his heart ached for her. Her connection to her children was like a living thread and to lose them in this way was like suffering a brutal amputation. Since his arrival into the Miller household, Elladan had watched her with Sam and Pip and could see how much of her being they had become. He remembered his father’s eyes when Elrond had set sail for Valinor at the end of the Third Age, the sorrow that was etched in his face at knowing he would never see the Evenstar again because of her choice to remain at Estel’s side.

Miranda now bore the same shattered look.

Frank hid his anguish better since men were more accustomed to concealing their emotions than women, however, it was clear to the twins that his sorrow was equally deep and his pain just as cutting. He was forcing himself to be brave for his wife’s sake but Elladan could tell that he was just as distraught at the loss of their children as she was. These were parents who loved their children dearly, whose affection for them could be seen in every word spoken and were now gutted because their family had been ripped asunder. Eru help him, Elladan had no words of comfort that could make this anguish any easier to bear. The enemy had taken the children and even if Frank were able to tell them what he knew about Bryan’s whereabouts, the Nazgul would still kill both children Pip out of sheer spite because they were Miranda’s children.

The Witch King of Angmar would have his vengeance on Eowyn after all.

"We were too late," Frank said as he entered the house and found it terribly silent without the sound of Sam and Pip tearing through the halls or arguing about something or rather. That silence was almost soul crushing and he had to swallow the hard lump in his throat because he was so damn near to losing control of himself. He could not lose his focus now, not when his sons needed him so desperately, wherever they were.

  
"They were already there at the school," Frank’s eyes met Elladan’s as he spoke, "They took Sam and Pip. We tried to follow but we failed."

"We lost them," Miranda said in a small voice as she drifted over to the sofa and lowered herself into it.

"We’ll get them back," Frank went to her immediately, unable to bear seeing the terrible pain in her eyes. Sitting next to her on the sofa, he allowed her to bury her face in the crook of his shoulder as she wept fresh tears.

The sound broke the heart of every man present.

Frank wished he had the words to make this better for her but how could he console her when he could barely contain his own despair? After the accident in the jeep, the two of them had scrambled out of the ruined vehicle, grateful that they had suffered no greater injuries than some scrapes and bruises. The airbags and seat belts had done their jobs well but husband and wife felt little joy in surviving unscathed. With the children gone, it felt like his insides had been ripped apart and he could not even begin to imagine what Miranda was feeling at this point.

"Why would they take your kids?" Eric asked, not knowing what else to say since he was never very good at offering consolation.

He did not know Frank and Miranda very well but he could see the effect of the children’s loss on the couple and wished he could offer some useful advice but all he had in the wake of their encounter with the creatures in the laboratory was more questions. Following their confrontation with Frank and Miranda rushing off, they had been left to the ministrations of the two men he had come to know as Elladan and Elrohir, brothers whose accents he could not quite place but sensed he could trust. The four men had then returned to the archaeologist’s home to await them there.

The brothers claimed that the creatures were capable of being harmed by fire and after the explosion Miranda had caused, they would need to nurse their wounds before they could set out on the hunt again. Eric had been dubious about this but as the time stretched during their wait, it would appear that they were right. In fact, Eric was starting to suspect that these men knew _all_ about the assassins that had pursued Jason and him across Europe.

Unfortunately, they had been rather closed mouthed about what they knew and after awhile; Eric conceded defeat and abandoned his line of questioning. Instead he ruminated on everything that had transpired in the laboratory from the moment the creatures had made their appearance to the instant Miranda had ignited the room in a fiery explosion. At the time, so much had been a blur or words and images, cloaked in gunfire and urgent need to escape that there was very little time to process all of it clearly. However, now that things were calmer, he could think about what had actually happened.

Once they had seen Frank, it was as if nothing else had mattered and considering that it was pure coincidence that the archaeologist had stumbled into this affair, Eric wanted to know what it was about Frank that was so bloody important.

_The children of the Riddermark. T_ hat was what the creature has said. Y _our brother cannot save you now._ What on earth did that mean?

"They want to know where Bryan is," Frank stated, standing up as he ignored Eric and faced Elladan. "Isn’t that right? They took my sons so I would have to tell them where my brother is."

  
Elladan could not meet his gaze but nodded in the confirmation of his words. "Yes," he replied softly. "I imagine that will be their demand."

"Your brother?" Jason protested becoming as completely lost as Eric was now. "Those things were after us, not you."

"That may be so," Elrohir interjected, "but you have led them here and unknowingly to Frank. If they did know before of his existence before this, they certainly do now. Once they saw you, they realized you were the link to Bryan that they had been searching for so long."

"How could they know?" Frank demanded. His ability to remain calm was reaching breaking point. "How could they know Bryan was my brother and for the matter what the bloody hell are they? The amount of bullets Miranda put into them should have brought down bloody Godzilla! How could they still be standing?"

Having no idea who this ‘Godzilla’ was, Elladan chose to answer Frank’s vehemence with the truth since the situation now made it unavoidable. If Frank was to have any hope of retrieving his children from the hands of the Ring wraiths, he would have to be initiated into the world that Bryan was now apart of. Glancing at Elrohir, who nodded at his agreement for Elladan to answer truthfully, Elladan drew a deep breath and responded.

"They are called the Nazgul."

The room felt deathly silent as all eyes fixed upon him.

"You know what they are?" Eric burst out, feeling some measure of triumph in knowing that he was right about these strangers, that they would have the answers to the questions that had plagued him since Iceland.

"We are familiar with them," the elf answered with no small measure of bitterness in his voice. "The reason Miranda could not kill them Frank is because they are already dead. They may have shape and move about in this world but they do not live in any manner that can be consider life. Fire can hurt them but little else will. So long as their master exists shall they walk the earth, that much is immutable."

  
Silence followed since no one had expected such an answer. Elladan could see doubt in all their eyes even after what they had seen. It was one thing to see a creature being harmed grievously without dying but another thing entirely to be told that it was something that could not be killed _at all_.

It was Frank who surmounted this hurdle to ask the obvious question.

"Who is their master?"

"We know him as Sauron, the dark enemy," Elladan answered, certain that this further information would be viewed with similar skepticism but these were the only answers he had. "In your world he was called David Saeran."

"David Saeran," Eric gasped recognizing the name instantly, "the CEO of Malcolm Industries?"

"Yes," Elrohir replied remembering the details of the affair that had brought Bryan, Tori and the Ringbearer to Valinor. "I believe that is what his empire here is called."

"What do they want with Bryan?" Frank asked impatiently, wanting to know why before he focussed his thoughts on the who.

"Six months ago, Sauron attempted to bring about the total destruction of your world. His agents had seized control of great weapons that would have reduced everything to a fiery cinder. Your brother and his companions stopped this catastrophe from taking place and took Sauron across the sea to our land, where he could be imprisoned beyond the reach of his servants. Without him, the Nazgul are lost and they seek desperately any means to retrieve him. I believe they took Sam and Pip because they think _you_ are able to reach your brother."

"We’re talking about _the_ David Saeran?" Jason continued, still unable to accept that the Richard Branson like tycoon who had graced so many magazine covers was the megalomaniac villain Elladan describing. "The guy’s the rock star of millionaires!"

  
Eric did not comment because he was too busy thinking about what he knew of David Saeran. Much of what Elladan was claiming seemed impossible. However, some facts were undeniable. Six months ago, there had been a fire at David Saeran’s Romanian estate and while the company’s PR people moved quickly to announce that he had uninjured in the disaster, Saeran had not made a public appearance since. His absence was explained as being the result of some minor injuries sustained during the fire that required his convalescence on a private estate somewhere in Germany.

If Elladan was right and David Saeran was this Sauron that he described, then it made perfect sense why the company would try to conceal the status of its CEO. Malcolm Industries unlike most companies did not operate with a board of directors having equal say in how the corporation should be run. The function of the board in this case was only as silent partner, since David Saeran and John Malcolm before him had controlling interest.

The company was built on the fortune of the Malcolm family, having been whittled down through the years to its sole beneficiary, David Saeran. Its supremacy on the stock market had almost entirely to do with the men who sat in charge of the company and Saeran had generated a great deal of enthusiasm when he had taken over the reins. Perhaps maintaining the illusion that he was still in charge was the company’s way of ensuring its marketplace integrity.

God in heaven, this insanity was starting to make sense to him. He thought of everything that had been said inside the laboratory after these _Nazgul_ had laid eyes on Frank. The leader had ordered the rest of them killed because Frank had suddenly become the greater prize. He had not understood the reasoning behind it then but after what Elladan had claimed about their desperate need to retrieve their master, it was logical. They did not need anyone else if they had Frank.

Eric’s eyes shifted involuntarily to Miranda and felt genuine sorrow to see her so anguished. For some reason, he wanted to comfort her. Seeing her so defeated after she had saved all their lives affected him deeply and Eric could not understand it. It was not as if he was attracted to her. He wasn’t and that surprised him even more because in light of his empathy for her. Eric wanted to go to her side, to hold her and tell her that it would be okay, that they would find her children. He wanted to offer his shoulder even if it meant having her husband flatten him for being so forward. He just could not stomach seeing her _so_ wounded.

"Can you get in touch with your brother?" Eric opted for the safer course by asking Frank sympathetically.

"No," Frank shook his head, "I don’t even know where he is." As he said it however, his eyes shifted towards Elladan and Elrohir in an accusatory glance.

"Even if you did, it would avail you nothing," Elladan answered not unkindly.

"What does that mean?" Frank bit back, tired of all these cryptic answers. Bryan never intended Sam or Pip to be used as a bargaining tools for information and if his brother were here, Frank had no doubt that he would do everything possible to get his nephews back.

Elladan took no offense at Frank’s tone, understanding what compelled him to speak so tersely. Parents were seldom rational when their children were in danger and the twins had seen how devoted Frank and Miranda had been to their own. Elladan knew that he would have to tell Frank the whole truth despite how unbelievable it might be for the human to accept it. If Frank and Miranda wished to retrieve their children from the Nazgul, they would have no choice but to hear the tale of the past even if it went against everything that either of them thought they knew about their world.

"You asked where we come from and we would not tell you," Elladan said to Frank gently, "it is not because we wish to keep secrets from you but because we wish to protect ourselves. We are not one of you."

"Not one of us?" Frank stared at him, clearly perplexed. "In what way?"

Elrohir glanced at his brother, agreeing with him in silence at what had to be done next. Exposing themselves this way was never their intention but if Frank was to hear the truth, he would need proof. A mind such as his could not accept what he was told on face value alone. He had to shown something irrefutable.

"In the way that we are not human," Elladan answered brushing his hair back and exposing the ears that both he and Elrohir had kept concealed with almost religious devotion, "we are elves."

The room fell into stunned silence. Miranda was not so lost in grief over the abduction of her two children that she was prevented from showing her astonishment. Frank stared at the appendages with fascination. His scientist’s mind already producing all the logical possibilities that could explain those particular deformities in humans while Eric and Jason were of the belief that nothing they were being told should be surprising after what they had seen.

To Eric, it was so ridiculously simple. Of course, they were not men.

He would have balked at the suggestion if he had not remembered the helm that had saved their lives and what Petra Tebben had said about it before her unfortunate death. She had alleged that the helmet had been made for a species other than man. At the time, it seemed impossible to him, almost science fiction but now they were confronted with two men who looked human as any other, except for the ears and a luminous quality the journalist could not put his finger on. Eric had made a career out of playing hunches and though he usually found proof to back up his suppositions, this time there was none to be found and he was forced to rely on faith alone.

His instincts told him that these men, no he corrected himself, these _elves_ were telling the truth. And if it was indeed as they said about the enemy then perhaps they could answer him one further question.

"It called us the children of the Riddermark," Eric found himself asking, breaking the silence at last. "Why?"

Elrohir turned his attention to the man whose identity he had discerned earlier before glancing at Miranda briefly before meeting Eric’s gaze again, "because that is who you were. You were in a life before this one, Eomer Eadig, King of Rohan or as it was known to the people of that land, the Riddermark. Miranda was your sister, Eowyn, who in later ages was known as the Shield Maiden of Rohan who fought at the Battle of Pelennor Fields and slew the Witch King of Angmar, the head of Sauron’s Nazgul. You Jason, you were at her side when she killed him. You struck the enemy and distracted him long enough for her to strike the killing blow."

"That is why he hates you," Elorhir looked at Miranda faced showed nothing but astonishment at Elladan’s statement. "You cut him down at the height of his power, when he was at his absolute strongest. Now that he has found you, he will want his retribution."

  
"This is impossible," Frank exclaimed after this revelation. "You cannot be serious."

"Frank," Elladan stepped closer to him," you may not accept what we have said but know that it is the truth. Just as it is the truth that you were once Faramir of Gondor, Prince of Ithilien, you must hear me and understand. I told your son a story a number of nights ago, about a great quest involving a ring. That ring belonged to Sauron and it was the Nine who hunted the Ringbearers during their quest. Your brother found one of these Ringbearers born again in the form of a girl child, whom he now raises and protects in our lands. You, however are raising the other."

"Sam," Miranda stood up and exclaimed, remembering those dark dreams that had filled her son’s nights. The ones she had convinced him were not real. "Sam is one of the Ringbearers."

  
"Yes," Elladan nodded, "and the Nine will know him by sight just as we did. They may be willing to release Pip for your cooperation but you will _never_ get Sam back. They will keep him for their master."

"Why?" Frank asked, horrified by the notion even if he could not accept Elladan’s words.

"For vengeance, Frank," Elladan said grimly. "To make him pay for destroying the One Ring."

***********

  
It took almost an hour before Elladan paused in his accounting of the past to his companions. Considering that his tale comprised an outline of Middle earth’s history, the War of the Ring, the nature of elves and the dark lord Sauron, the elf thought he had done quite well to keep his explanation as short as he had. The only voice that spoke in all that time other than his own was Elrohir’s, who interjected whenever there was some point that Elladan should have made clearer. However, other than that, his audience remained in muted silence. He could not blame him for their difficulty in accepting everything that he had revealed to them because it required a belief in things so removed from what they knew as fact; it must seem like fiction. However, Elladan and Elrohir were proof enough that these things were real because these were the times in which they had lived.

It was Frank who would have greatest difficulty in accepting. His life had been dedicated to the study of the human past. It was more than just his vocation but rather his faith and that faith was shaken to the core because everything he thought he knew about the race of men was quite simply wrong. The bones that he studied in such great detail were clearly the bones of orcs and other goblin creatures left behind because those creatures had no reverence for the dead and did not inter their fallen like the other races. The middens that made up the bulk of archaeological theory were orc tools, lacking in finesse and grandeur. During the days before the situation they were now embroiled, the twins had studied the books Frank used in his work and the illustrations they had seen were clear to them, even if they were the cause of much study and supposition by the scholars of this world.

Miranda on the other hand, was easier to convince because she had faced the beast and had seen his true face during their battle. Even if she had difficulty believing everything Elladan had said, she was prepared to shunt aside her skepticism for her children’s sake. The other two men were trapped in a similar limbo of uncertainty. Their eyes had proved something of what they had been told but there was still doubt in their eyes. Elladan sensed it had more to do with the fear of having their safe existence challenged by such unworldly things rather than the belief of its impossibility.

"I can’t accept this," Frank spoke after long last and not unsurprisingly.

"It is the truth," Elrohir returned. "Your brother found it just as difficult to believe but in the end he had no choice. For the fate of the world, he had to believe."

"You are asking me to set aside everything I know," Frank met their gaze, "everything that I hold sacred. How can you expect me to do that?"

"Because it is how it happened," the elf declared.

"You’re a journalist Eric," Frank turned to the news reporter desperate for support, "surely you can believe it?"

"I don’t know what to believe," Eric shrugged, unable to deny that he found the elves’ claim wholly incredible. However, everything that he had seen sine Hofskojull convinced him that they were embroiled in matters that could not be dismissed despite their notions of reality. The Nazgul were real and they were supernatural creatures. If they were real then perhaps the rest of it was as well. "I know what I’ve seen and what I’ve seen says we can’t dismiss what they’re saying entirely."

"Frank it doesn’t matter," Miranda made herself heard for the first time. She rose from the sofa and went to her husband who had been pacing the floor during Elladan and Elrohir’s narration. Reaching for him, she took his face in her hand and said softly, "It doesn’t matter what is the truth. Maybe it is and maybe it is not, perhaps we will never know for certain. What _does_ matter is Sam and Pip. Whatever our personal beliefs are regarding what they’ve told us, we have to trust them to know how to get our boys back. Nothing else matters Frank."

Frank stared into the depths of her blue eyes, eyes he found it so easily to become lost in. From the first moment he had laid eyes upon her, his heart had leapt out of his chest and his breath still caught whenever she walked into the room. If anything could convince him that what Elladan and Elrohir were claiming, it was knowing that she was his wife in that other life as well. The first time he had seen her, it had felt so right because he had felt **so** complete. Was the feeling generated by the subconscious recognition that she had been his once before? He loved her more than his life, more than his ability to articulate. The power of her over his heart was all encompassing, not just for her but the tremendous gift she had brought into his life in the way of Sam and Pip.

She was right. Whether or not Elladan and Elrohir were telling him the truth, that everything he knew about the past was false, all of it was a secondary concern in comparison to the welfare of their children.

"Yes," he nodded slowly, "you’re right. It doesn’t."

She smiled at him, a radiant smile even if it was tempered with thinly concealed fear for her children and Frank knew that he would believe anything for her. They held each other for a moment, ignoring the fact that they were not alone, exchanging a soft kiss and an understanding that no matter where the road led from here, they would travel it together and they would find Sam and Pip at the end of it.

"These Nazgul," Miranda addressed Elladan once she had pulled away from Frank. "You said that I killed one of them. How did I do that if they are supposed to be invulnerable?"

"Fire gives them fear," Elladan answered quickly, grateful that Miranda had succeeded in pacifying Frank for now. "However, weapons that are elven blessed can harm them considerably, if not permanently."

"Like this thing?" Jason suddenly spoke up, producing the helmet that Eric had given to him for safekeeping inside the knapsack. At the time of their escape from the faculty lab, Eric had known nothing about their new companions and it seemed prudent to conceal the artifacts until they knew for certain if these people could be trusted. While Jason had as much trouble believing that he was once a creature called a hobbit as the next person, he knew undeniably was the ‘shield bitch’ the creature had referred was indeed this blond woman who could fight like the devil. These ‘Nagzul’ did exist and they were not human. That fact Jason had accepted long before Elladan and Elrohir had given them names.

"When I hit that Nazgul with it, it hurt him." Miranda offered. "Bullets did nothing but this caused the bastard pain."

"Brother," Elladan called his sibling closer as he held the thing in his hands. "Do my eyes fail me or is this dwarf craft?"

"Dwarf craft?" Jason gaped, not expecting these two men to be so laden with answers, even if they were elves and not two delusional men with strange ears.

"Yes," Elladan said offhandedly as his brother came to join him in the scrutiny of helm. "They were great craftsmen. The size of the helmet tells me that this is one of theirs. For their short stature, their physical bodies were built for endurance. It is said that when Aule created them, he wanted to create a hardy race. Though they were small, they were stout with a good deal of physical strength and capable of withstanding attack because of their formidable musculature."

"They probably had thicker bones," Frank found himself interjecting, wondering if he was insane for even hypothesizing about this. "It would explain the slightly larger skull, it probably was not so much bigger as it was thicker."

"The dwarves we knew were certainly were resilient," Elrohir added. "Gimli lived 250 years and was very fearsome in battle."

"Dwarves?" Eric raised a brow, unable to think of dwarves as any more than the tiny people whom appeared in circuses. "We’re talking about the guys who followed Snow White around?"

"Probably not," Jason rolled his eyes.

"He was one of the Fellowship," Elrohir replied, glancing at Jason.

"So how come he isn’t reincarnated like the rest of us?" Jason asked, feeling stupid for even asking such an absurd question. It was so hard to swallow this possibility that he had lived a life before this one and knew a dwarf named Gimli and was called Merry. A male with a name like that could not possibly survive adolescence without enduring extreme embarrassment.

"Oh he is a dwarf," the elf explained, aware of the skepticism that their tales of Middle earth was being viewed but was ignoring it because he knew that these were true things he had told them and their belief would come eventually, even if they were cynical now. "Aule’s children do not go to the same place as men nor they are not immortal like elves. It is said that they are returned to the earth in death, to await until the end of all things. When the new world is created, Aule will awaken them to help with it’s rebuilding."

"Brother, do you know what this is?" Elladan exclaimed excitedly as his fingers traced the faint outline of the engraving emblazoned across the front of the helmet. Elven fingers, with its heightened tactile prowess, followed the path of grooves etched in the tarnished metal. In his mind’s eye, an image was taking shape and it was one that he had seen in the books of his father’s library. Elladan had studied almost every one of those books during the past one hundred thousand years and was able to recognize the image forming in his mind.

"You know what it is?" Eric asked, sitting up.

"I have seen only pictures of it," Elladan mused, "I cannot believe that it has survived to this day and age."

"What is it?" Elrohir questioned, never having that much patience with books much to his father chagrin and not as versed in lore as his twin.

"I believe it is the Dragon Helm, crafted by the dwarfs of Belegost in the First Age," he answered, his voiced filled with awe as he explained the origin of the helm. "It is the one the dwarf king Azaghal made gift to Maedhros."

"Maedhros?" Eric exclaimed, recognizing the name much to the surprise of the two elves.

"You know of Maedhros?" Elladan exchanged a skeptical look with his brother at how Eric would come by this information.

All eyes turned to the newsman who was exchanging anxious glances with Jason.

"Maedhros was the name of the project in Iceland," Eric explained because the mention of Maedhros was an important revelation. "These Nazgul murdered an archaeology team after they recovered that object and another artifact that had been buried in the ice for a hundred and fifty thousand years. I read the file on the expedition before I arrived in Iceland and Petra Tebben’s notes indicate that John Malcolm himself named the project, Maedhros. What does it mean?"

"Maedhros was the son of Feanor, he aided Azaghal during his ambush by orcs on the Dwarf Road. In gratitude for saving his life, Azaghal gave Maedhros this helm. It was worn to fight dragons. I believe Maedhros in turn returned it to Fingon who eventually passed it to the house of Hador. Turin wore this into battle against Glaurung the dragon."

"Dragons?" Frank exclaimed, feeling even more out of depth now.

"Malcolm was the name of Morgoth in this world," Elladan explained, "before he was vanquished by the Valar thanks to Aaron Stone’s effort."

Eric absorbed this and took into account the catastrophic destruction of the Malcolm Building, an act of terrorism no organization had laid claim to. He remembered attempting to cover the story in the media frenzy that followed and the underlying feeling that soon developed among all the journalists was that nothing about this incident was the norm for such acts of terrorism. No declaration was ever made by any organization claiming responsibility and despite the efforts of law enforcement to produce a suspect, there were still no clues as to who might have done the deed almost two years after the fact. If what Elladan had told them about the Valar was true, then it made sense why the destruction of the Malcolm Building was such a mystery.

"Jason," Eric said not looking at the younger man when he spoke, "show it to them."

Jason was a little apprehensive about revealing the artifact. He had developed a somewhat proprietary feel for it since it had come into his possession and was reluctant to let it out of his sight, even among people who had shown themselves to be allies.

"What artifact?" Miranda asked, puzzled.

"It’s why they came to see Hans and why the Nazgul found us," Frank answered. They had been so busy listening to the history of Middle earth and their past incarnations that there was little opportunity to reveal how Eric and Jason had come into their company. "We were examining these artifacts that they brought us when the Nazgul came and killed Hans."

Mention of Hans’ name brought produced another surge of grief for the old man who had been his friend and mentor. Frank did not think he would ever be able to erase the memory of seeing Han's neck snapped like kindling by the monstrous creature that took his life without hesitation. Hans had died, never knowing what had killed him or why his life was suddenly forfeit. For one who had spent his entire life uncovering the truth, this seemed profane to Frank. He swallowed away the pain because answers were needed if more deaths were to be prevented and he did not even want to consider what this meant for his sons.

"What is this artifact?" Elladan finally asked.

Jason produced the fossilized jewel that had begun this entire affair for him and Eric in the first place. Still half-encased in rock, the dark jewel held no recognition for Elladan and Elrohir as the human removed it from the knapsack and came toward the brothers.

"Be careful," Jason replied as he handed it to Elladan, "I don’t know why but it burns if you touch the crystal."

"Burns?" Elladan said puzzled as the object was placed in his hand.

He barely had time to register what it was when suddenly the crystal in his hand came alive with a blinding white light that surged out from his palm in an expanding ball of energy. In seconds, everything in the room was obscured by the power of the brilliant flare and before his eyes were completely overloaded with this enveloping illumination, he saw the husk surrounding the crystal crumble away like dust. Elladan was forced to close his eyes as he felt warmth it generated against his skin but it was a far cry from the burning that Jason had described. If anything, the heat reminded Elladan of the warmth one would feel on a summer’s day. Through the haze of white light, he heard glass shattering and screams that sounded farther away from the room.

Eric tried to turn away but the powerful radiance had already overtaken the room and soon surged beyond the house in an expanding wave of brilliance that made everything else vanish. For a minute, he thought absurdly that they were caught at ground zero of a nuclear flash. Even though he could not see it, he heard the others crying out, demanding to know what was happening. He could not longer see Elladan or anything else for that matter, just the incredible brightness radiating from the artifact. The television set came to life briefly and then shattered; the screen exploded sending glass shards in all directions. Inside the kitchen, he could hear other appliances similarly awakened before the outpouring energy became more than their fuses could cope with and they came to an abrupt halt with a sputter of electricity and sparks. Alarms screeched and were suddenly silenced. He was certain he could hear the microwave making a similar death knell before it exploded.

While Eric and his companions attempted to understand the catastrophe-taking place around them, the energy wave continued its outward journey. Leaving behind the boundaries of the Miller household, the artifact, long buried beneath the ice for a hundred millennia, unleashed its pent up energy upon finding its way at last into the hands of an immortal who was pure of heart. The life contained inside its facets had craved for awakening for so long and now that the moment was upon it, the euphoria of its joy swept forward in an expanding wave.

Its awakening was felt everywhere. In city of Oslo, in the modern age of Arda, the power of the artifact destroyed every electrical component in its path. From complex machinery to simple appliances, all were inflicted with the same malaise as fuses were overloaded and were then completely destroyed. Cars came to a grinding halt as their electrical circuitry was instantly destroyed. The streets became chaos as vehicles smashed into one other from on the road. Traffic lights ceased to offer direction, creating more confusion and more accidents. In buildings, lifts stopped moving and were frozen in place as back up systems quickly took up the task to prevent tragedy. Computer terminals switched off suddenly; losing valuable information and factories became silent with inactivity. Houses and streets became black with darkness as light bulbs and fuses boxes were destroyed.

In the air, airplanes close enough to the city were forced to land. Airport officials frantically attempting to direct the planes suddenly robbed of intricate guidance equipment. Power lines snapped, sparks bouncing off its severed cables, taking with it telephone lines that effectively cut off communication as well as power. As Oslo was plunged into further havoc, the inner fire of the jewel continued its jubilant awakening, spreading into the rest of the country and towards the sea, wreaking unintentional destruction in its joyful celebration.

The Nazgul who were presently returning to their master’s woman, screamed in pain as the outpouring from the jewel tore through their bodies. As things of darkness, they had great reason to fear jewel and now as it wracked through their shadowy forms, they suffered great agony as the wave swept past them. Though they were not killed, they did endure pain much to the confusion of the two children whom they had abducted. Unfortunately, by then they were already in the company of their minions and the momentary distraction of pain did not interfere in their plans.

In the world beyond Arda, Earendil the Mariner felt his heart quicken and the light of the jewel fastened against his brow seemed to glow even brighter than ever. The evening star for an instant became as a dawn’s light for the jewel recognized the awakening of another that was long given up for lost. Through the boundary between worlds, between the heavens and the earth, the power of the artifact was like a beacon in a black night devoid of stars. Even Varda felt its power and a smile returned to her lips for it was as if one of her children had been born her and she prayed within the halls of Valimar, that it would find its way to her once more.

And in the halls of Mandos, the sleeping mind of a dark god stirred in secret.

**************

"What is God’s name was that?" Frank cried out when he was able to see again and found Elladan kneeling on the floor, staring at the artifact reverently. Around him, the others were recovering from the overload to their optical receptors, blinking feverishly as they tried to gain focus. Frank made his way to Miranda and touched her arm, a silent gesture to inquire if she was hurt. His wife nodded slightly indicating her well being before they both turned to Elladan who had begun to speak.

"Sweet Eru," the elf declared with tears glistening in his eyes as he cradled the artifact in his hand as if it were the most precious thing in the world. Frank had become accustomed to their aloof manner during the past few days and found it quite disconcerting to see them both so emotionally wrought.

"I cannot believe it," Elrohir spoke, his voice hushed with awe, his eyes similarly moist. "In our lifetime, I did not expect to see this again."

"I never thought I would hold it," his brother swallowed thickly, baffling the humans before him. The jewel was no longer crimson as it had been when it was partially encased in fossilized rock. Now, it glowed like a diamond, breathtakingly beautiful, capturing the light in all its facets. The brilliance that had wrought so much destruction had receded into a radiant sparkle that gleamed magnificently in Elladan’s palm.

"What the bloody hell is it?" Eric demanded, still shell shocked by what happened. His mind was trying to wrap itself around the fact they were still alive after that spectacular display of power. Looking around him, Eric saw the faces of digital clocks on the VCR, the table clock and even his watch were dead to say nothing about all the electronic devices that no longer functioned. The floor in front of the television set was covered in glass. Although Eric was certain it would take the next year for the spots in front of his eyes to completely disappear, he knew that the damage in this house was minor in comparison to the destruction that was caused beyond it. He knew that nuclear devices detonated in the upper atmosphere could cause what was called an electromagnetic pulse or EMP that had the power to destroy everything with an integrated circuit.

What had happened here was not _that_ dissimilar.

"It is a Silmaril," Elladan answered breathlessly, "The jewels crafted by Feanor himself. The inner fire within it comes from the great Trees of Valinor, Telperion and Laurelin. It has been lost since the end of the First Age, we had never thought to see it again. Where did you find this?"

"In Iceland," Jason answered, feeling a sense of pride in knowing that he was right about the artifact, that he was justified in keeping it from the hands of the enemy. However, even he had not suspected that the jewel was capable of wreaking such havoc. "It was buried deep under the ice. If what you say about the shape of continents changing, Iceland would have been attached to Europe a long time ago."

"Maedhros was said to have plunged it into a fiery chasm along with himself," Elrohir stared at his brother for confirmation because it was Elladan who was the scholar between them.

"Yes," Elladan nodded, "we thought this destroyed."

"It was found less than a month ago," Eric explained. "The archaeologists who uncovered it paid for it with their lives. That’s why the Nazgul were there. They were after this all along. I thought it was just to keep us quiet about what they had done but they wanted the artifact."

"As creatures of darkness, they will be able to sense this. We cannot remain here any longer. Where this goes, they will be able to follow to some extent. Once they know where you are, they only have to be in the vicinity to track you." Elrohir explained.

"Why couldn’t I touch it?" Frank asked, remembering the pain he felt when he had attempted to handle the object and was rather confused that Elladan was cradling in its hand with no ill effects.

"You are mortal and I am not," Elladan answered, understanding Frank’s confusion. "The Silmaril can only be handled by an immortal that is pure of heart. It will not allow itself to be ferried about by agents of evil. No doubt when this was awakened, the Nazgul would have felt it wherever they were. You used this against them during our battle earlier, did you not?" Elladan asked Jason.

"I used it to burn one of them," Jason answered, sweeping his gaze across the faces of his human companions and realizing that if there had been any doubt regarding Elladan and Elrohir’s accounting of things, what had transpired a moment ago had surely confirmed it irrevocably. "They have been hunting us all across Europe to find that. Why would they want it if they can’t even touch it?"

"I do not know," Elladan answered, "but now that they know that Frank is here as well as the Silmaril, they will be back."

"No they won’t," Frank said quietly, staring at Miranda because he had been thinking about their situation deeply since the light had faded from his eyes. As much as Frank wanted to deny everything that Elladan had revealed to him about Middle earth, elves and the dark lord Sauron, he could not longer continue to remain skeptical after what he had seen. His faith in everything he knew was shaken to the core but Frank refused to let its deconstruction affect him because he needed his faculties intact if he and Miranda were going to get Sam and Pip back alive.

"How can you be certain of this?" Elrohir stared at him.

"They have our children," Miranda answered before Frank could. "They know that we will not go anywhere as long as they have Sam and Pip. In fact, they know that we will be waiting to hear their terms and I’m pretty bloody sure it will involve that rock."

"For what possible reason could they wish to gain possession of it?" Elladan reiterated Jason’s earlier question because he was just as puzzled as the humans. When it was in Arda, the only evil who could wield the Silmarils had been Morgoth and that was because he had been one of the Ainur, fallen perhaps but nonetheless one of Eru’s children. Not even Sauron could take up the Silmaril without it causing him great pain to say nothing of how it had affected the Nazgul.

"Maybe they want to use to get this Sauron person back," Eric offered.

"I cannot imagine how it could be done," Elrohir replied. "The Nazgul cannot go to Valinor to make such a demand. Even if they were foolish enough to make the attempt, the Valar would destroy them before they even reached its shores and the Silmaril would be reclaimed. It would avail them nothing."

Frank’s mind was racing as pieces of the mosaic fell into place. Now he understood why the Nazgul had wanted him alive while ordering others killed. He was their only link to Bryan who now in Valinor. If they believed he knew where Bryan was, they might also think he knew how to reach his brother in the Undying Lands. If that was the case, which Frank certain it was, then he would be their messenger to the Valar.

"They need me to do it," Frank declared to no one in particular. "That’s why they took Sam and Pip. They want me to go to Valinor to offer the artifact to your Valar in exchange for their master."

 

***************

 

Beyond the walls of the house, everything was bathed in darkness.

As the sun set distantly in the horizon, the curtain of night seemed even more enveloping in the blackness that followed. The stars glimmered across the sky but not even their radiance could replace the lights that had been extinguished in the wake of the Simaril’s sudden awakening. The wave of energy had dissipated harmlessly now but that did not alter the fact that the city was in deep crisis. The loss of electricity had not only plunged the city into a major blackout but the initial overload had caused electrical systems everywhere to burst into flame, causing fires throughout the city. Under normal circumstances, these were easily containable, however the wave had damaged vehicles as well and fire engines that should be rushing to combat the problem were now trapped in their stations, unable to move.

Miranda could see the amber glow of fires illuminating the night sky, not only on the campus but throughout the City Centre skyline. The air was filled with voices of panicked and frightened people, some calling for help, and some searching for loved ones while others offered assistance. They had left the house because despite Frank’s suppositions that the Nazgul would take their time in acting, now that they had Pip and Sam, it was safer that they not be where the enemy could find them. It was Eric who suggested they tried to rethink their situation in safer surroundings but as Miranda allowed her gaze to sweep across the street, taking in the sight of all the destruction, she wondered if such a place existed tonight.

"It’s a bloody war zone," Miranda declared as they reached the street and saw the carnage in metal that had been created when the wave had destroyed the internal circuitry of all vehicles on the road, not to mention the havoc played with the traffic lights. The wreckage of steel was seen at intersections where collisions had resulted; it was evident in the shattered glass windows of ruined shop fronts and by the jet of water, surging into the air where a hydrant had been ripped from its place on the concrete pavement. The sound of chaos became so loud that it was hard to endure the knowledge that they had been the indirect cause of it.

"I had not believe the Silmaril was capable of this," Elladan remarked as his elven eyes was able to take better stock of the damage in the darkness and through the intermittent radiance of fires in some places.

"You probably didn’t have electricity back then," Jason replied, trying not to be affected by what they were seeing. After travelling to some of the most morally bereft places in the world where the slaughter of humankind was practiced to almost expert precision, he still was not as desensitized as he ought to be. "When all that power escaped, it probably fried every circuit in the city. A similar thing happened a few years ago in Canada except then it was a solar flare."

"Well I hope that’s what they think this is," Eric declared, fearing the repercussions once the authorities had time to think about what had caused the blackout.

"Not likely," Frank said sourly. "There is more than an enough instrumentation to predict with some measure of accuracy when that phenomenon occurs. Something this big would have given itself away long before it was able to just turn up and surprise everyone. After Canada, the threat was considered large enough to warrant the funding into research."

His attention was drawn away from the conversation by the sight of a woman trying to free her child from an upturned car. Without hesitation, Frank broke away from the group and went to help her feeling the need to be able to help one child after failing his own. Fortunately, it did not take much exertion and the child was soon free to return to his mother’s grateful embrace. Once he was certain that they were all right, he hurried back to the others.

"We have to help these people," Frank looked around, torn between the guilt of what had transpired and his need to find Sam and Pip as soon as possible.

"Its a nice idea but I think we should keep moving," Eric retorted, keeping his eyes fixed on the road ahead instead of the wreckage around them. "We don’t know how widespread the damage is and it won’t take the authorities long to pinpoint where that blast came from. If they find us, we’re going to have to face a lot of questions we can’t answer, not unless we want to see the inside of a padded room."

"He’s right," Miranda found herself agreeing even though she was no happier than Frank about ignoring the people in need around her. "At best, they’ll lock us up in a padded room," she retorted giving Eric a look, "at worst, they’re going to want to know what caused the surge and something _that_ small generating that much power, is going to attract interest. If anyone finds out what that is," she glanced at Elladan who was now keeping the Silmaril in his possession, "it won’t be just Malcolm Industries and the bloody Nazgul that will be after us. We’re going to have a visit from the military."

"The military?" Elrohir stared at her in confusion. "For what possible purpose?"

"The purpose at which human kind excels better than any other living thing on this planet, elf or dwarf," Eric retorted cynically, "a more efficient way of killing one other."

"So where are we going?" Jason asked, noticing Frank was striding ahead as if he had a destination in mind, unlike the rest of them who were wandering through the streets like shell shocked refugees.

"Han’s house," Frank said somberly.

"Hans?" Elladan inquired.

"The old man who was killed," Jason explained quietly.

"Are you sure about this?" Eric stared at the archaeologist questioningly, uncertain whether invading the home of a dead man was the wisest course of action.

"Hans didn’t have any family," Frank replied. "Judging by the state of the city as this time, it will be a while before the authorities have the opportunity to identify his remains from what’s left of the faculty building. Hans has a place outside town, it will be empty for awhile. We need a place to hide, a place to think about what we’re going to do."

"What we’re going to do is get Sam and Pip back," Miranda said sharply, her tone indicating that she would take offense with anyone who felt differently.

"Yes, we are" Frank returned, his own anger accumulating with each step he took through the city. His life had suddenly been turned upside down, on every level. From the physical danger, to the loss of his children and the obliteration of everything he thought he knew of the world, even Frank’s deep sense of calm had its limits. He had been remaining strong for Miranda but his wife was riding a wave of aggression he could not control and frankly, had no desire to try. "However, we have no idea where they took the boys and if we don’t think of way around those Nazgul, they’ll be killed before we reach them."

Miranda fell silent, recognizing the tone of her husband’s voice and sensing that if she were to press the issue, they would all be treated to a surge of temper that might rival the explosion of energy that had escaped the artifact earlier. It took quite a bit for Frank’s temper to be ignited and she was being selfish if she thought that she was the only one who was wracked with worry about Sam and Pip. They were his children as much as hers and throughout the day, he had been there for her, providing her with the comfort of his strength. It was time Miranda returned the favor. Besides, as much as he might sometimes appear to be the bumbling academic, Miranda was perfectly aware of his powerful intellect and he was right in saying they needed a plan.

"They couldn’t have gotten far," Eric offered, seeing the rising tensions between husband and wife. Understandable, considering the emotional strain that they were both under. He did not know if he could believe that Miranda was once his sister or that he was even this Eomer, that Elladan and Elrohir were convinced he was. He did not feel like a king but looking at Miranda, her face full of determination, personifying beauty and strength all at once, he had to admit he rather liked the idea of being a _brother_.

"They had an hour," Miranda met his gaze, "they could have been anywhere by the time the wave hit."

Eric saw how hard it was for her to keep her emotions under control. In some ways, she was terribly female but he had sensed was power in her that was similar to the most battle hardened soldiers he had ever encountered. She was no mere housewife. That was for certain. No housewife he ever met was capable of fighting the way she did when she came to their rescue. She may have claimed to be nothing more than a wife and mother these days but Eric was convinced that there was a time when she was something more. The way she fought the Nazgul indicated some kind of military background. He had seen her fight and her technique was not to disable or to defend, it was to _kill_.

"I think we should find out whether Malcolm Industries has an office here in Oslo," Eric suggested. "Chances are, they would have headed there first."

"Could they still be there?" Elladan asked, totally out of his depth in this conversation. Fortunately, it appeared that Eomer’s incarnation was a man of some knowledge that would prove useful in the quest that lay ahead.

  
"It’s possible," Eric replied, thinking about the possibility with more scrutiny. "I doubt they could have boarded a plane out of Oslo before the blast and after it, nothing was going to be capable of taking off."

"They would not squander their advantage by remaining in place," Elrohir remarked. Perhaps he did not know the Nazgul as well as he had in the past, however, the older son of Elrond Peredhil was convinced that the enemy would spirit the children beyond the reach of their determined parents. Sam and Pip were the only means the Nazgul had to guarantee Frank’s cooperation. So long as the children were in their power, they could bend the father to their dark will. "Even if they are limited by the modern methods of travel, they will be on the move."

"I have to agree with him," Jason added. "They can ride horses and there’s a lot of this country that’s still undeveloped land."

"What do you know about the company?" Frank asked suddenly.

"Malcolm Industries?" Eric’s brow rose at the question. "Only what the PR people release. Successful conglomerate with interests in everything from oil to software. They’re a billion dollar corporation."

Frank considered this information as he kept his eyes upon the darkened road ahead. There was no fear of being run over by a car since it was virtually impossible that any were still capable of mobility within the city. "Billion dollar corporations don’t run themselves," Frank declared after a moment. "If the story about David Saeran recuperating in Germany is a lie and he is in fact this Sauron who is presently in Valinor, then _someone else_ has to be in charge."

He was right, Eric thought, impressed by the acumen behind that deduction. "I guess so. However, it’s a leap assuming that they might know about the Nazgul."

"You said you were in a hotel in Iceland when the Nazgul tracked you down," Frank reminded. "They couldn’t have done that without the resources of the company since I somehow doubt these things are capable of making flight reservations or tracking down cell phone signals. We have to assume that there is someone behind the scenes clearing their way. I think if we find that someone, we’ll find Sam and Pip."


	9. Conversations

Sam tried not to look at them.

If he did, he would just get afraid and that would make him cry.  He did not want to cry, not in front of _them_.  Also, he needed to be strong for Pip who was crying and had good reason to do so because they were in a great deal of trouble.  His brother was understandably frightened out of his wits after these creatures had dragged them off the bench in front of their school had not stopped crying since they had seen their father trying to beat down the doors of the car to reach them.  Sam’s thoughts were mostly on their mother and the despaired look on her face when she knew she could not help them.  In all his life, he had never seen her look that way and he would be just as content if he went for the rest of it without having to see the same. He tried to ignore the growing dread inside of him because he knew these creatures had frightened their mother. Nothing frightened her.

At least until now.

“It’s alright Pip,” Sam said holding his brother closer to him, “we’ll be okay.  Mum and dad will find us soon enough.”

The creature sharing the backseat of the vehicle with the two children did not react to this hope.  In fact there was very little that they did react to other than the strange storm of light that had occurred earlier when all the lights had gone out inside the building the creatures had taken them to after their kidnapping.  Then they had howled in pain like something terrible was tearing through them and though the moment lasted briefly, Sam had to wonder what had hurt them because knowing might give him and Pip a way to escape and they had to escape, there was no changing that.

Even now, they were moving farther away from the city in a car that looked very old, likes the ones he saw on the black and white TV shows that run during the day.  He liked Mr. Ed and being seven, had convinced himself that the reason that horses didn’t speak was because they had very little to say.  The car seemed to be unaffected by the destruction he saw outside, the destruction that further drove home the imperative of escaping these creatures to return to mum and dad.

The path they traveled was black, with illumination coming from the makeshift torches of people moving in the dark and the small fires that had was spread intermittently across the city. He saw cars that was smashed against each other and into other things and the world outside looked like those faraway places on the news that were always fighting. The ones mummy and daddy always argued about whether they should see. His father always claimed that their exposure to bad things on TV would make them _de-sen-si-tized_ to it, Sam was not quite certain of the word. While his mother on the other hand, believed that bad things happened anyway without TV and it was equally bad to be unaware that it existed.

The arguments usually ended with them kissing and breaking open a bottle of wine with Sam and Pip being sent promptly to bed.  Sometimes, his parents could be very strange.

Strange or not, the need to seem them was overwhelming. He wanted to feel his dad’s reassuring voice telling him that everything was all right and mum’s embrace.

“What if they don’t find us?” Pip stuttered through his tears.

“They’ll find us,” Sam said with more confidence than he felt, “look at how mum made Aksel leave us alone? She won’t leave us alone like these for long.”

One of the creatures in the front seat snorted at this and it was the first reaction that Sam had seen it make that would indicate that it was alive. Even though they appeared as men in their dark suit and strange white masks, he knew without any doubt that they not human. It was more than simply knowing this to be the truth but feeling it in his bones as a sensation that saturated every pore of him.  He knew who they were even if he was too terrified to say it out loud. To speak the words would make it more than just truth, it would give his fear shape and form.

  _Black riders._

 “No one will find you,” one of them spoke, a low, hissing voice that felt like icicles against his spine. Sam shuddered at hearing it and saw Pip cringing deeper into his seat at the beast’s voice.

 “Our mum will find us,” Sam said defiantly. He needed to be brave because he was not brave than Pip would have more reason to fear. His brother was too small, too young to be able to withstand the black evil before them.  It never occurred to Sam that he was not so old himself.  He could not see past the fact that he was seven and older to recognize his limitations.

 The creature stiffened at the claim as if there was something about it that drove a sharp point through his skin. He turned his pasty white face towards Sam and the young boy felt his resolve shake at the sight of himself reflected in those dark glasses.

 “She is nothing,” he returned, “just a mortal wrapped in fragile flesh.  When I am done with her, I shall strip it off her bones like an onion. You may watch if you wish.”

 “No!” Pip started to cry harder.  The imagery overloading his childlike sensibilities.

 “Stop it!” Sam shouted impotently as the beast, not caring about his fear and trying his best to console his brother.

 Pip had buried his face in his hands and although his face was hidden beneath the mask, Sam glared at the creature that had spoken, certain that he was smiling beneath the pasty facade. He wished he were not so small, he wished he could hurt him.

 “My mum will get us back,” he said in a voice not quite his own, “she’ll get us back and make you pay for taking us away.”

 “She can try,” the creature replied, gazing at his companions in the car with him, “she can try.”

 

***********  


 It took them almost three hours to walk half way across the city to reach Hans’ home on the edge of Oslo and even as they did, they saw how widespread the damage caused by the Silmaril had been.  People were moving about the streets in a sort of dazed astonishment, surrounded by wreckage on the streets and in buildings.  The fires still raged and many structures were devoid of power.  Civil authorities were attempting to maintain some form of order and as they reached the outskirts of the city, saw the arrival of vehicles that had escaped the wave from other parts of Norway. It appeared that the destruction had done its worst in Oslo.  Other major cities like Bergen and Tondheim had escaped unscathed and were sending aid.  Miranda was certain that some of the license plates she was seeing driving along the darkened streets, briefly illuminated by headlights, had also originated from neighboring Sweden.

“What it is like to be immortal?” Jason asked Elladan as they followed Frank as the streets began to thin into vegetation.  So many questions lingered in his mind even though Elladan and Elrohir had explained themselves as best as could be managed under the circumstances. From the moment he had laid eyes on the artifact, something about it had captured his imagination. Although he could not recognize for what it was, he knew that he could not allow the Nazgul to acquire it, despite being unaware of their true natures.  While Eric thought he was insane, Jason had clung to his belief that the artifact was special.

In his wildest imaginations, he had never suspected just how special it was.

The elf did not look at her as he pondered the question and tried to think of an answer that would make him understand what it was like to never fear the Doom of Men.  

“Long,” Elladan said after a moment. “Endless at times.”

His answer surprised Jason for he had expected something illuminating and enlightening. He did not know at what point his acceptance of the elf’s claims of immortality had slipped into the comforting realm of belief. However, Jason suspected his mind had already opened itself to a great many impossibilities when the artifact had come into his possession. The world in which the Simaril had originated was not so improbable when his mind was already of the belief that the jewel was beyond his understanding.

“It must be worth it though,” Jason stared at the elf, unable to imagine it could be anything else. 

To be ageless was something man aspired to for as long as he had sentience enough to understand the nature of death.  Everything that existed in life was somehow interconnected to this incontrovertible reality from which there was no escape. Men built empires to defeat it, created great works of art and literature that would survive long after they were gone to endure the inevitability of dying.  It must be terribly liberating to free of that limitation, to know that there would be always be a tomorrow and not fear that time was finite.

“Sometimes,” Elladan said quietly.  “I have lived for over hundred thousand years in a place that traps my race like flies in amber.  It is a paradise where we live but we are stagnant as a people. I see this world,” his eyes shifted back to the city, “I see your accomplishments and though I may not necessarily agree with everything that man has done, there is something alive and passionate in everything that has been built.  We did not realize until we emerged from our sanctuary, how important the need to strive is even to an immortal. The imperative to evolve is necessary to a race and when one is immortal, that is hard to do.”

“I never thought of it that way,” Jason replied and supposed that Frank, being the archaeologist among them, would probably agree with his sentiments.  A race had to evolve to progress. If there were no more challenges, no more hurdles to cross, then one would simply exist, instead of living. People wasted their lives never understanding the difference.

“And it is hard to see friends who are not like us die, leaving us with the knowledge that there will be no reunion in an afterlife. When we left Middle Earth to go into West, my sister remained behind because she loved a mortal man and she chose to accept his fate as her own.  For a hundred thousand years, her loss was a wound upon us that does not diminish with time and with elves, whose keen eyes and mind remember everything, there is not even the respite of forgetfulness.”

“Did you know me?” Jason asked quietly, seeing the sadness in his eyes and wishing he had not brought up the subject because it a profound sorrow that had marked the elf more than he would probably care to admit to a person he had only met hours ago. “I mean the person that I was..”

Elladan smiled.

“Oh yes,” Elrond’s son replied, instantly plunged into the memory of the hobbits and their enthusiastic manner.  What a delight they had been during those months in Imladris while they waited to embark upon the quest. Despite having such a terrible burden to carry, the hobbits had brought joy to the elves that had not thought it possible to see any race save other than themselves, so perfectly content and happy to be exactly what they were.  “Merry and his companions were greatly admired by my people and I knew him personally. My associations with the Master of Buckland were not as binding as that of Eomer Eadig but I remember him to be brave and fearless.”

“Fate has a funny sense of humor,” Jason remarked shaking his head as he glanced at Eric who was walking a few steps ahead, “I trust Eric with my life.  He had gone through five cameramen by the time I came along. I was certain, I wasn’t going to last a week with him but he took me under his wing from the moment we met and while he makes me want to throttle him at times, he is my friend. Now I’m wondering maybe its because we knew each other before.”

“My sister,” Elladan said thinking of Eve’s words, “claims that the souls of men are drawn to the friendships and attachments made in previous existences. A great friendship in one lifetime may simply be rekindled in the next. Souls are able to recognize each other, in much the same way that soul mates are bonded.”

“I like that,” Jason grinned, “I don’t remember being this ‘Merry’ though.”

“It does not matter that if you cannot,” Elladan said soothingly, “what matters is his soul belongs to you now and it is your will that will shape it in this life.”

“And it must be strange for you,” he added, “I mean seeing people who have been dead and gone, reincarnating again.”

“It is actually of a great pleasure to me,” Elladan answered sincerely. “I thought that we would be doomed to say goodbye to our mortal friends for all time but now I know that it is only a temporary parting that someday, we will find each other again just as I have found my sister and all of you.”

“Your sister came back as a human?” Jason exclaimed. “What is she like?”

“Well,” Elladan chuckled, trying to describe Eve as best he could, “she’s a good deal more assertive than she used to be, stronger than I ever imagined possible in character and spirit but somehow, she has completely lost her singing voice.”

“Her singing voice?” Jason laughed.

“Yes,” he nodded, “in the day, she used to sing with such beauty that some said it was comparable to Luthien herself.  In her human guise, her skill has been decidedly less.  Her one effort to try made every human who dwelt on Valinor grateful they did not possess our ear for song. Still,” Elladan met the human’s gaze, “it is a joy to have her in our lives again.”

“Just as long as she doesn’t sing,” Jason chuckled.

“Eru himself could not bear it,” Elladan retorted.

*************

 

When they arrived at Hans’ home, it was empty as Frank expected it to be.

The house had been in Hans’ family for a long time and sat at the edge of the city, facing the sea on one side and the encroaching vegetation on the other.  Frank had chosen the place because it was in a relatively isolated place where it would be difficult for the enemy to track them. Since Hans lived alone, there was also no danger of neighbors noticing that someone was occupying his home in his absence. While Frank did not intent to remain at the place for long since like Miranda, he was eager to look for Sam and Pip, for the moment, they needed a place to sit out the night and decide their plan of attach.

As he entered the darkened timber with its polished wood floors, Frank was grateful for the flashlight they had acquired during their journey here.  With the citywide power blackout, he did not expect any of the lights to be working and prayed that Hans had at least candles somewhere on the premises.  Fortunately, it appeared that Hans had something better once they had entered through the front door, having found the spare key the old man kept under his front door mat.  Old lamp fixtures that used kerosene still clung to the walls and it took only a little bit of exploration in Hans’ garage to bring the house to some measure of illumination.

The interior of the premises was very much the home of an aging archaeologist with too many bookshelves, artifacts displayed in cases through the study and the halls.  Frank took a deep breath and smelled old leather and the distinct fragrance of musty old books.  Like a library, he thought and felt completely at ease within its confines.  However, what comfort he felt was temporary because being in this place, reminded him that Hans was gone and he was an intruder in a dead man’s home. Perhaps it was for the best, he thought to himself as he and the others went through the motions of settling themselves within the house. At least, Hans did not have to know that everything that he and Frank had held sacred all their lives was on the verge of being proved as great a as the Ptolemic Celestial Model.

Elrohir had gone to the fireplace to light a fire and fill the house with heat since even in the warmer seasons, Norway was a cold climate. Miranda had gone to the kitchen to see what food Hans had in the fridge, probably for something to do. His wife needed to keep busy in order to stop herself thinking about Sam and Pip and Frank could understand that sentiment because he wanted to rush out and find his sons as much as he did. However, he knew that they could not approach that particular problem without a plan and the enemy was perfectly aware that he would demand his sons’ safety in exchange for his cooperation.

 If they were desperate enough to snatch children to ensure the return of their master, then they were desperate enough to ensure Sam and Pip’s safety for the time being.

It was a slim hope at best but it was the only thing that Frank could cling to at this moment.  Miranda’s sanity was poised on a knife’s edge. Even now as he looked into her eyes, he could see the fear in her eyes expounded by the demons of her past.  At the core of all that fear was the numb feeling of powerlessness and right now, while they were at the mercy of the Nazgul in regards to the welfare of their children, she must be feeling doubly so.  Frank had remained strong for her but he was just as anxious as she was and despite his words of formulating a plan to get the children back, in truth he had no idea where to begin. 

Staring at a bookcase in the hall, Frank’s eyes drifted over the volumes of text Hans had acquired over the years.  Some were leather bound, others were soft backs, their repeated use evidenced by the creases running through their spines. Stand close enough to one of them and you could detect a faint whiff of musty paper and old leather, Frank thought as his fingers traveled along the shelf, as if the tactile contact would afford him wisdom he did not have.  

Once upon a time, these books had been all the knowledge in the world, now they were next to useless because everything he thought he knew was false. How could he engineer a plan to rescue their children when he had been so wrong? How could he trust himself to make any judgement after failing so utterly to understand the true nature of things?  There were elves in the next room, elves! Dragons, dark lords and dwarf kingdoms were not fiction. They were the reality. It was everything else, _Homo Erectus, Homo Habilis, Australopethicus Gracile_ , those were the myths. 

“Frank,” he heard a voice interrupt his conflicted thoughts. 

He looked up to see Elrohir staring at him in concern. 

“I was just looking at these books,” Frank replied turning his gaze back to the shelf. “My entire life is on these shelves, just like Hans’.” 

Elrohir drew in a deep breath, aware of what made this human feel so terribly lost.  It was so much easier to understand Bryan, Elrohir thought because like him, Bryan had a warrior spirit.  In some ways, Frank reminded him of Elladan though he was certain neither would be able to see the similarities. Frank was brave and determined for certain but there was an understanding in his psyche that made him see things with far more accuracy than his more aggressive brother. Bryan believed force was the way to cure all ills, while Elrohir suspected that for Frank it was comprehension. 

Faramir of Ithilien had been the same way.

It had always been Estel’s belief that of the two sons of Denethor, it was Faramir who was best suited to rule because he had a temperament that could govern men beyond the battlefield, where else Boromir knew war and little else. The One Ring had taken Boromir because he did not understand it and that was fatal in light of the power it exuded. A military man, he could think of nothing but using that power, even for the best of intentions, where else his brother had understood what the One Ring was and was able to save himself from its terrible distraction. 

“What we have revealed to you, does not change who you are,” Elladan said gently, suspecting that his words would do little good. He had no argument that could make this easier for Frank to bear. 

“Doesn’t it?” Frank met his gaze. “I have spent my entire life in search of truth, using the evidence to build an answer. In one day, I have found that not only am I wrong but all those who came before me were similarly mistaken. My profession is now the academic equivalent of astrologers. Nothing that I know or have been taught is true. Humans did not become what we are through a process of evolution and change, we simply appeared out of nothing!  Three million years of artifacts are now the skeletal remains of some subspecies you call Orcs, not us at all!  Even if we get my children and we return to some semblance of a normal life, what is there left for me? I can’t go back to my work because its meaningless!”

“I am sorry,” Elrohir replied, not knowing what else to say.  He wished his father were here. Elrond would have the words to make this easier for Frank to accept.   “It had been our fondest desire that you remained oblivious to all this. When we came to visit you, it was only for the intention of ensuring your safety, not revealing the truth.” 

“It isn’t your fault,” Frank sighed in frustration. “If you had not been here then a good number of people would be dead and I would be in the hands of those Nazgul. I don’t blame you for telling me the truth because as much as I hate this, I hate the lie even more. You have opened a world for me that I know nothing about, a world I couldn’t even begin to imagine.  How am I supposed to trust myself to make any rational decision when I couldn’t see past the fallacy?” 

“You think that your people are the only ones entrenched in a lie? My people have been sequestered in a paradise for the last one hundred thousand years. We have not encountered any other race since our departure from Middle Earth. We lived as if trapped in amber, going from day to day, with nothing to look forward to, no reason to change or strive for more. Look around your world, you have accomplished much. We may object to its form but your people have done _something_. All mine have done is grow complacent and bored. Our young see no challenges, no hurdles to cross, we lived like penned animals.  At least, you have entered the oblivion of unknowing without intention, we willing entered our cages.” 

“A race must evolve,” Frank found himself saying, understanding all too well the danger of stagnancy. “You are here though, you have crossed the sea.” 

“Yes,” Elrohir nodded, “only because the Valar decided that it was necessary for us to do so after seeing how your face has progressed. They understood the need, we ourselves had not the courage to admit it. You see,” he took a step closer to Frank, “you are not the only one who feel blind, in some ways, my people feel it too. Perhaps when this is all done, you may open their eyes to what they can be instead of what the world has made them.” 

 “Maybe I will,” Frank nodded, his feelings of doubt had not passed but at least now he knew that he was not the only one who was lost.

 

************

 

Miranda had to do something. 

If she did not keep her mind occupied, she would inevitably find herself hurling towards her sons’ welfare and another bout of despair was something she did not need to indulge once more. Tomorrow, when there was light and they had resources at their disposal that would ensure that any rescue attempt did not end in failure, she would think about them. For now, she had to maintain her composure and her sanity by keeping her thoughts occupied.  If she gave in to the feeling of helplessness and fear taunting her from the edge of her consciousness, she would be no good to anyone, least of all Sam and Pip. 

She moved about the kitchen, finding food because her training had returned in full force since this had all began.  When exposed in uncertain territory, the first order of business was to find food and ensure that everyone’s strength was kept up.  A good meal may not come again for sometimes and it was prudent to store energy reserves in the body for that eventuality.  Being a bachelor, Hans’ died seemed to consist mostly of tinned food that was easy to make. Unfortunately, the oven was electric which did not impress her much and forced her to use the antiquated potbelly stove that sat at the corner of the room for mostly decorative purposes. 

After wrestling with it for a good twenty minutes and threatening it impotently with the gun that she had ran out of bullets for long before this, Miranda finally managed to coax a flame into being.  For everyone’s sake, she hoped that the pipe that led into the ceiling was not blocked or it was going to get smoky very fast.  Miranda waited for the stove to become hot enough to cook, enjoying the increasing heat radiating from its small grilled furnace.  After being in Africa for a good part of a decade, she had become accustomed to the heat and the cold had affected her and the children especially, even after six months in Oslo. 

“You seem to have the best seat in the house,” she heard a voice over her shoulder and glanced behind her long enough to see Eric entering the kitchen. 

“I’m waiting for this ancient piece of rubbish to warm up so I can heat some tea,” Miranda replied. 

“Tea,” Eric cracked a smile, “I haven’t heard dinner called that since I went home to visit my mum.” 

“Bloody Australians,” she retorted with a bemused smile, “you pick up too many Americanisms. It must be all that sun.” 

“Bondi boy through and through,” he answered picking up one of the cans she intended on feeding them as he reached the counter she was leaning against. 

“I went to Bondi about twelve years ago,” Miranda remarked casually, “nice beach.” 

“Nice?” He raised a brow. “It’s one of the best beaches in the world. Top place for surfing.” 

“I’m guessing you’re a little homesick?” She met his eyes with a critical look. 

“Guilty,” he said without contest. “Does it show that much.” 

“Not really,” Miranda turned away, returning her gaze to the burning embers within the stove. “I’m just good at seeing these things.” 

“I’m sure you are,” Eric nodded, believing it. “How are you doing?” 

“Fine,” she said a little too quickly, telling him more than she intended with that one response. “I’ll be fine.” 

“We’ll get them back Miranda,” he assured her, “don’t think any differently.” 

“I’m not,” she declared, her jaw tightening as she spoke, “I’m going to find my boys and then I’m going to make the bastards who took them pay in blood.” 

“I get the feeling that you weren’t always a housewife,” he remarked and earned a sharp glare from her. 

“I don’t know what you mean,” Miranda feigned ignorance even though she could care less whether he knew the truth about her past or not. When one was faced with the unimaginable loss of one’s children, it mattered little the others thing she considered important. 

“I think you do,” Eric met her eyes. “I saw how you fight and that’s not something you learn at some self-defense class you might go to while the kids are at school. I’m a journalist, I’ve been in Sarejevo, Chechyna and even the Gulf. I know what Special Forces training looks like. When you fight, you don’t fight to defend, you fight to cripple. If those Nazgul had been anything but what they are, you would have killed them all.” 

“I had him,” Miranda declared, her voice becoming as hard as flint, “dead.” 

“Yeah,” Eric nodded in agreement, remembering the sound of those bullets tearing through the Nazgul at point blank range and then seeing the creature stand up despite it.  Until that moment, Eric had not truly appreciated the sinister malevolence of what they faced. “Think of it this way, you killed him once already.”

 

“I guess,” Miranda frowned, not certain of what to make of this whole notion of a past life.  Of everything the twins had told them, it was the notion that she had been some warrior maiden a hundred thousand years ago, which she found hardest to believe. 

“Still having a little trouble believing you’re the Shield Maiden?” He could not help tease but then supposed he was in no position to offer taunts, not when the elves believed him to the reincarnation of an ancient king named Eomer. 

“Shield maiden,” Eowyn shook her head at the thought. “Sounds too Wagnerian for my liking actually but its not as hard to believe that you might have been my brother.” 

Eric raised his eyes and for a moment they simply stared at each other.  Two people lost in the same myth, trying to see past the barriers of their present personalities to seek out the people they may have been in the past. Whether or not it was to re-establish the familial bond between them, neither could say but Miranda could not deny that when she looked into his eyes, there was something that made him lower her guard slightly.  She did not take to strangers very often and even though their insane situation had created bonds between them, she still should have been able to keep him at a distance. 

She should have but she wasn’t. 

She was already at ease around him and that surprised her. After Belfast, it took time for Miranda to accustom herself to the presence of strange men in her life. Frank and to a lesser degree, Bryan had been the only exceptions to this rule. Once she got to know the men in question, Miranda’s barriers would lower, as it had been when Elladan and Elrohir had first come to stay. However, with Eric it was different. She was talking to him and their conversation was not merely obligatory but meaningful because she found herself speaking about her fears.  In the service, she was taught not to give up secrets or weaknesses, invariably they could be used as a weapon. She knew that this had a good deal to do with her reserved nature and the fact that she was talking so freely, to a journalist of all things, surprised her. 

“Do you believe it?” Eric asked, having come to the conclusion that it was quite something to gain this woman’s respect.  For the first time in this life, he had met a female he could not charm, whom he was quite certain was capable of seeing through all his bullshit before he opened his mouth to utter it.  It was rather intimidating to lose that edge over the opposite sex but also somewhat liberating.  There was no need for the games played between the genders, no reason for sexual innuendo and any of the complexities that made relationships between men and women so difficult.  Jason had once said that he was the way he was because he had been raised in a male dominated household. 

Eric supposed that was not untrue. He had been raised in the city but his father was a country boy and in the bush where weakness could break you a dozen times before the sun set that day, his father had been a product of his environment.  Eric’s father had been tempered by the property in Victoria but not even he could hold a candle to Eric’s adoration of his grandfather Theo who always seemed larger than life.  Theodore Rowan had been the traditional Australian grazier who had acquired his large property by working hard every day of his life. Eric had adored him. His grandmother, he barely remembered and his mother, who was similarly overshadowed by the personality of his father, had made little impression on Eric. Perhaps that is why he had such a disposable attitude towards women. 

Of course there were women who did fade into the background and Eric had never really known how to relate to them.  He always felt it easier to charm and seduce them but always remained at minimum safe distance to never let on that he understood very little about them.  Eric wondered if it would have made any difference at all to his life, if he had been an older brother to a sister.  Now as he looked at Miranda and felt connections he could not explain, it was dawning on him that this might possibly be the only chance he would ever have to experience such a thing. 

“I don’t know,” she finally answered. “Personally, I have enough difficulty dealing with a flesh and blood sister, than a spiritually reincarnated brother.” 

“Tell me about it,” Eric retorted, “yesterday, I was an only child. Now it looks like I have a sister that could bloody well kick my ass if I’m not careful.” 

Miranda chuckled, “well I was always certain that my parents came home with the wrong baby because my sister and I never got along.” 

“What’s she like?” Eric asked. 

“Bitchy,” Miranda answered without hesitation. 

“So its a deep relationship then,” he met her gaze with a mischievous glint hat caused her to laugh.

“Yes,” she answered, grateful for the diversion, even if it was fleeting. “We were never close. It’s not her fault or mine; we’re just terribly different. Sam and Pip are the same way...” she started to stay before drifting off into silence when the mentioned of their names surfaced the anguish she felt in her heart at their absence. 

“Hey,” Eric reached for her arm, “Miranda, we’ll find them.” 

“God I hope so,” Miranda replied, feeling her emotions overwhelm her for a moment. She had to choke back the lump in her throat as she thought of her two sons, her babies. “I can stand it Eric,” she met his eyes and a glimmer of moisture appeared in her own, “it’s like having a part of yourself torn away and while its gone, there’s nothing there but emptiness. I can still smell them on my clothes after they hugged me when I dropped them off at school...” 

“Miranda,” Eric declared with more assurance than he felt, “your husband’s a pretty smart bloke and he’s figured it out right. These Nazgul need Sam and Pip alive, they can’t get their master back without Frank and for Frank to cooperate, its in their best interest to make certain no harm comes to your boys.” 

Miranda wanted to believe that, she truly did but she also knew people, especially the darker parts of their nature. The Nazgul were the living embodiment of this shadowy reflection and no matter how logically she argued this in her head, she was still a mother and being a mother did not always make one rational when it come to the safety of one’s children. 

Miranda drew a deep breath, wishing to purge herself of these emotions but reluctant to do it before Frank because her husband was wrought with the same despair that she was and Miranda did not want to make him feel worse. Frank was keeping himself together because his family needed him and Miranda knew that when he claimed they needed time to formulate a plan, she had no doubt that he would.  She loved him deeply but she also knew the ruthless logic that existed beneath his scholarly interior. If there was a way to get their children back, Frank would find it and Miranda had no intention of impeding his progress by burdening him with her anguish. 

“You know,” she raised her eyes to Eric, not certain how she was able to trust him but knowing that she could, "all his life, Sam’s had bad dreams. He always dreamt of being chased in the night, of dark things following him in the woods. I thought it was just a child’s nightmares, though I could never imagine where it came from, I told him that none of it was real. I told him that there were no monsters lurking in the dark and he believed me.  I was wrong Eric, there are monsters and they took him. What must he be thinking?”

 

“You told him what is true most of the time,” Eric said soothingly, “I thought the same thing myself. I stumbled into this thinking that this was all just another story, a punishment really for what I’d done back in Sydney.” 

“What did you do?” Miranda was forced to ask. 

“I was sort of caught with my bosses’ wife at a company ‘do’. He wasn’t impressed and sent me and Jason to Iceland instead of the Gulf,” he said somewhat embarrassed. 

Miranda chuckled, “were you drunk or just stupid?” 

“I say drunk, Jason says stupid,” he replied, not at all offended by her amusement.  In the light of everything they had experienced in the last 24 hours, what happened in Sydney had ceased to be as important as it had been when they first arrived in Iceland. 

“I’d listen to him,” Miranda returned with a straight face,” he’s on the right track.” 

Eric cracked another smile, “so this what having a sister is like? I’m glad I’m not missing out.”

“Don’t worry,” she replied turning back to the kitchen counter, “there’ll be lots of time for me to tell you how much of a pig you are.” 

“I’m not a pig,” Eric protested. “I just have no control when it comes to the opposite sex besides,” he grinned. “What can I say?  I’m charming.”

Miranda rolled her eyes, “that’s one way to put it.”

 

*************

 

With Oslo behind them, the vehicle in which Sam and Pip were trapped drove for most of the night. At some point, Sam could no longer stay awake and he fell asleep, only to be assaulted by terrible dreams that were no where as terrifying as the nightmare of his reality.  In the dreamscape, there had been some comfort in knowing the darkness pursuing him would end with waking but now, waking held no solace for the enemy had escaped its boundaries and were waiting for him.  Pip had found it easier to sleep and Sam was grateful for this when he awoke and found his brother still very much lost to his slumber. 

Beyond the tinted windows of the car, he saw the sunshine beginning to bathe the land. He did not know how far they had driven but it felt like a great distance. The terrain outside looked nothing like the city or country he had known. He could not read the signs and felt a deeper sense of dread because the language did not look like the one he had become familiar with in Norway.  To his dismay, Sam realized that they were in another country and the threat by their kidnappers that mum and dad would never find them became more ominous inside his mind. He made no mention of this to Pip nor did he see any reason to wake his brother up with this discovery. Pip would only be frightened by the news and Sam had trouble enough trying to keep control of his own fears, let alone add to the disintegration of his brother’s. 

He knew at some point during the night, they had crossed a body of water. He remembered this because he had been groggily aware of hearing waves sloshing against something.  Sam bore his alarm in silence, certain that showing his fear would give their captors more satisfaction and the innate hatred he felt for them would not permit him to give them that pleasure. They were now in the mountains. Beyond the windows he could see mountains, lush and green, rolling high above a valley that home to a sapphire vein of river. It was beautiful to look, not unlike the arid landscapes of Africa that Sam had spent most of his young life. 

They had stopped during the journey, long enough for Sam and Pip to be fed and allowed the use of facilities. The creatures had kept close eye on them, never affording them enough privacy to escape or get help.  Somehow, Sam suspected that asking a stranger to help would only end in disaster, so the few excursions beyond the vehicle had gone by without incident although there were moments when he had been sorely tempted to run. However, with an intuition he did not understand, Sam knew that these creatures had hunted him a long time and were not about let him slip through their clutches now that he was finally in their power. 

“Where are you taking us?” He asked for the hundredth time since his incarceration. They were not fond of answering him but childish persistence did not know the meaning of the word surrender and in Sam the trait was particularly strong.   Pip stirred slightly at the sound of his voice but not enough to awake. 

His captors did not answer and while one of them had addressed him at the onset of this journey, he note that they did not speak a great deal, even to each other.  However, when they did communicate it was when they thought he and Pip were asleep.  Sam had listened to their word and though much of it made little sense to him, some things became clear and gave him some idea as to how to manipulate the situation. 

“Why can’t you say where we’re going?” Sam asked, determined to get some kind of a response. 

The silence forward. 

“Are we near yet?” He insisted, deciding to indulge in the behavior that would normally have his father jamming his foot on the accelerator and threatening to turn the car around if he and Pip did not behave. Leaning back into the chair, he began kicking gently the seat in front of him.  The Nazgul seated in it straightened and cast a look at him. Sam stared back unrepentant but wisely stopped kicking. 

“Are we there yet?” He asked once more and made the Nazgul face forward again, seething in annoyance even if he said nothing to indicate it. 

Sam’s eyes narrowed as he stared at them, trying to think of more ways to engender a response and resorted once again to the things that his parents found most irritating. Digging his fingers into the leather of the seat, his nails against the upholstery made a decidedly unpleasant squeaking sound. Once again, the Nazgul reacted to this and spurned Sam on.  He continued to do so, pretending not to notice the irritation of those around him. 

“Sam,” Pip stirred out of his sleep, “what are you doing?” 

“Nothing,” Sam replied, his eyes fixed on the Nazgul as he resumed kicking, much to his brother’s puzzlement. 

“Are we there yet?” Sam asked again and finally forced the Nazgul who had threatened him and his mum to face him. 

“If you do not cease this noise, I will split open your belly and scoop out the insides,” his dark glasses gleamed with Sam’s reflection, his voice full of menace.

  
“No you won’t!” Sam bit back. “If you were going to kill us, you would have done it already!” 

The creature raised his hand as if prepared to strike but no sooner than he did, one of the others immediately intervened to stay his hand. 

“Now is not the time,” the cold voice hissed through the small compartment. 

The leader of them retreated into his seat once more, his gaze still fixed on Sam. “When the time comes, I will kill you,” he said coldly. “Make no mistake on that, Ringbearer.”

 

*********

For Irina Sadko, the plan had been simple. 

After Aaron Stone and Bryan Miller had taken him from her, with the aid of the Nazgul, she had scoured England for any trace of their whereabouts, hoping that she could get to them before they left for the Undying Lands.  Unfortunately, an MI6 agent knew how to go to ground and despite their desperate efforts to find David’s abductors, they had failed to stop the inevitable.  The Nazgul had known the instant he had been taken beyond their reach because their powers began diminishing almost immediately.  There was a time when they would have been damn near unstoppable and while they were still dangerous to those they hunted, their power was continuing to fade the longer their connection to David remained severed. 

United by the mutual desire to rescue David from his incarceration, the Nazgul had quietly provided her with the control of Malcolm Industries. While the rest of the world believed that David Saeran was here in the hills of the Harz Mountains in Eastern Germany, recuperating from the fire that had destroyed his Romanian residence, Irina sat in charge of Malcolm Industries vast resources. In the offices of Malcolm Industries across the planet, she was recognized as David Saeran’s associate and it was through her that his orders came.  As far as they were concerned, David was still running the company even from the seat of his convalescence.   Irina had maintained the illusion since there would be no need for transition if he returned and assumed control once.

Not if, _when_ he returned. 

Initially, she had hoped finding a relative of Bryan Miller would allow her into Valinor. After all, it was safe to assume that the Valar would be open to permitting a family member of one of its heroes through the barrier between the worlds. However, she soon came to the realization that reaching Valinor was not the problem, it was convincing the Valar to let David go.   She had nothing to bargain with, no insurance to keep them from imprisoning her as they had done to David.  The Nazgul could not go in her place because the Valar would know immediately what they were and the wraiths were too valuable a commodity for her to lose. 

She knew very little about the mythology that gave birth to Sauron, although she knew about the One Ring and his unsuccessful bid to conquer the lands once known as Middle Earth.  She accepted everything David had told her without question, after all, her love for him did not allow her to doubt.  Besides, he had given her ample proof that he was the god she loved so dearly.  However, if she were to affect his liberation from the Undying Lands, then she would have to know it all. Morgul had aided the gaps in her knowledge begrudgingly.  She knew he disliked her intensely but with his powers and that of his brother waning, he had no choice but to tolerate her.  He had exhausted all avenues of retrieving his master, a fresh perspective, even from a human may produce results. 

He told her of Middle Earth, of the conflicts that preceded the War of the Ring, beginning with Melkor’s dominions over earth to the fateful war with the elves that had begun with Feanor’s greatest creation. She heard of names like Thingol, Fingolfin and Finrod and the Battle of Unnumbered Tears and Doriath. She also heard of the Silmarils, the jewels crafted by Feanor, one of which now looked upon them from the sky as the Morningstar while the others had been lost because of Feanor’s sons, Magylor and Maedhros. 

As soon as she heard the name, she knew she had her answer. 

Remembering a brief conversation she had had with David prior to his abduction, she searched the records at Malcolm Industries and found the expedition that David had tried to stop, the one put in place by John Malcolm himself. The project called Maedhros.   David had said that Malcolm was still obsessed by the jewel that had caused the ancient land of Beleriand to be ruined and sunk to the bottom of the sea.  The Silmarils, created from the light of the great trees that had once illuminated the world was what John Malcolm had hoped Petra Tebben’s archaeology team would find in the icy depths of Iceland.  

And find it she did. 

Unfortunately, by this time Malcolm was dead and David was beyond her. 

Initially, the plan had been to find the Silmaril and use it to reach the Undying Lands. Something of that much value would draw the interest of the Valar, even if they were hiding behind their barrier. Irina had intended to sail to the Undying Lands to barter for David’s life. It was a desperate gamble, she knew it. However she loved him and the risk was worth it. Unfortunately, Petra had complicated matters by bringing media attention to the Silmaril, forcing Irina to act.  The Nazgul’s efforts to retrieve the jewel had failed with the two journalists, Eric Rowan and Jason Merrick escaping in possession of it. However, she could not believe her good fortune when this unexpected wrinkle had led her to Bryan Miller’s brother and his family.  

Being led to them, changed everything.  Now the plan was strengthened beyond her earliest expectations. With his children in her hands, Irina had the bargaining tools she needed.   Frank Miller would go to Valinor, he would entreat the Valar to allow him to return to the world with David because if he failed, she would ensure that he never saw his children again. 

If she could not have the one loved, then neither could he. 

************ 

After what seemed like an eternity of following the path of the winding tar that meander through the mountains, the vehicle turned into a newly constructed side road. As they traveled this new course, Sam saw large trees on either side flanking the road, creating a canopy of leaves throughout its length.  The car disappeared beneath this latticework of leaves and branches, speeding up as it reached the end of its journey.  Sam felt his ears pop with the increased altitude, a sensation that made him flinch uncomfortably.  Before the landscape had disappeared behind the trees, he had thought that perhaps they had reached the highest place in the world. 

“Its okay Pip,” Sam said soothingly, aware that his words had little weight now.  His brother was terribly afraid and despite Sam’s earlier bravado, so was he.  They seemed so far beyond the reach of mum and dad that the reality that they may never be found was starting to crowd their young minds. Despite the need to feel hope, Sam was beginning to fear that they may never see their parents again.  Suddenly, dying was no longer the worst thing that could happen to them. 

“How will mum and dad find us?” Pip asked in a small voice, his eyes trying not to look at the creatures in the car with them. 

“They’ll find us,” Sam insisted, not daring to believe anything else. “I know it.” 

“But they don’t know where we are,” Pip countered, his lip quivering with fear. Sam wish he could say something to alleviate his terror but he could not manage his own fear let alone assuage anyone else’s. 

Sam did not know how to answer and lapsed into silence. Both children watched anxiously as the car penetrated the canopy of leaves to emerge at a plateau like cliff that seemed to overlook the entire mountain. They may not be at the peak of the mountain but there were certainly high up. Outside, Sam could see lower hills, great tracks of forest and the river cradled in the bosom of the mountain.  It would have been very beautiful if they had not been so frightened. 

The structure that sat upon this plateau was a castle. Sam’s mind could not see it as anything else.  It was a constructed from red brick, polished smooth with windows framed by statues of what looked like knights.  There were many floors; at least four that Sam could count and the slate grey roof that ran across it was seamlessly tiled. The road came to an end at the front door of the castle, framed on either side by a cobblestone courtyard that held an ornate fountain.  It should have been a pretty place but Sam could only feel dread as he looked upon it. 

The car came to a halt before the front entrance where Sam and Pip were quickly ushered out by the creatures that had brought them to this place.  Pip clutched Sam’s hands tight as they entered the doorway into the castle and felt immediately a cold draft sweeping over them. Robbed off the sunshine, the innards of this palatial residence felt icy.  Sam wondered if it was really cold or was it just in their heads. 

“Where are we?” Sam found his voice as he stood in the front hall, hearing footsteps approaching from other hallways. 

“Here,” the creature in the dark suit hissed. 

“I don’t understand,” Sam looked around.  “Who lives here?” 

A set of doors opened into the front hall from an adjoining room and stepping out of the shadows was a woman. She was very pretty with dark hair and deep brown eyes. She wore a black suit that clung to her shape and revealed her long legs.  She saw Sam staring at her and took a step before them both, driving Pip to take refuge behind Sam in fear. 

“I do,” she said with a little smile as she paused in front of Sam and Pip and lowered herself to eye level, “my name is Irina and I am very pleased to meet you.” 


	10. The Enemy

It was like the aftermath of a battlefield.

Leaving Hans' home at first light, Frank, Miranda and their new companions made their way into the city once more. A telephone directory in their refuge had given Frank the idea during the night that Malcolm Industries most likely had an office in Oslo itself and a quick perusal of its pages confirmed this as fact. With the entire city crippled because of the Silmaril's energetic awakening, the abductors who had taken their children had no way of contacting them with their demands.  Frank doubted that Sam and Pip were at the Oslo branch of the company but at least going there would give them valuable information as well as giving their abductors notice that they were willing to listen.

Frank had no real intention of taking the Silmaril to Valinor because unleashing David Saeran on the world would make the Nazgul even more dangerous than they already were. If Elladan was right, if Sam was indeed this Ringbearer that had thwarted the dark lord's plans in another existence, then his minions would be less likely to give up the boy because he would make a great gift to their freed master. No, Valinor could not be an option. While Saeran remained trapped in his prison, the Nazgul, though dangerous could be fought.  If Saeran's connection to them were re-established then all of them, not just Sam and Pip, would die.

The morning after the wave was a good deal more sedate that than the hours immediately following it. The fires had been extinguished during the night and all that remained were the burnt out husks of buildings, still exuding wisps of smoke.  There was a silence about the place that was all consuming and sent a chill through them as they continued down the sidewalk.  For a moment, it did not feel as if they were walking in the streets of a major European city but rather the heart of war zone in some strife torn country. Windows remained broken, shop fronts had been assailed by looters with their display window and their doors smashed in as thieves reveled at the impotence of previously formidable security measures.

"Christ, this is eerie," Eric found himself saying as he eyes the wrecks of cars that had slammed into walls or had simply crawled to a stop when the wave had done its worst.  "I feel like I'm in Chechnya or something," he said to no one in particular.

"We need to find a car," Miranda replied.

"Good luck," Jason retorted skeptically.  "Unless someone had an old clunker we can pinch, I doubt we're going to find one."

"It isn't far," Frank replied, "a couple of kilometers at the most."

"In the days of Middle earth, we journeyed through most places on foot," Elladan remarked. "From Bree to Imladris, it would take us six days."

"Six days?" Eric stared at them. "You walked for six days?"

Elrohir shook his head in disapproval, "you people are too dependent on your devices."

Suddenly, they heard the low drone of a car in the distance. Like the rest of her companions, Miranda searched for the source of the engines and deduced immediately that it was coming from behind it, most likely from out of town.   Thinking quickly, she made a decision, determined that they should not be delayed for any reason when the lives of her children hung in the balance.  Miranda had no patience with waiting and while Frank's strategy was sound, there were some things about their situation she was better suited to handle.

"You guys, hide." She ordered them.

 "Hide?" Frank looked at her.

 "Just do it!" She insisted, her eyes darting forward to the direction of the approaching vehicle.

The five men looked at each other in confusion but obeyed when it became apparent there was little time to debate the matter. Taking refuge behind the remains of a smashed car, they watched as Miranda stood in the middle of the road and waited. She ran her fingers through her hair and unfastened the buttons of her coat, leaving it splayed open to reveal the t-shirt she wore beneath. The car made its appearance later, a late model Ford station wagon with license plates that indicated it had most likely journeyed here from beyond the city.  As soon as it came into sight, Miranda began waving furiously and calling for it to stop.  No doubt, if there were any other people in the area, they would also be searching for a way to get back to their loved ones.  Miranda was not entirely callous of their needs but the safety of her children demanded that she be selfish.

The driver of the car was a man in his mid thirties who immediately brought the car to a gradual halt when he caught sight of her.  Miranda took a deep breath, sizing him up as she made her way towards him, glancing over her shoulder with just enough subtlety to warn those in hiding to remain where they were.  She noted that he was eyeing her appreciatively and supposed she ought to be grateful that bearing two children had not reduced her attractiveness to the opposite sex. It could be particularly useful at Christmas when she was trying to wrangle that nice bracelet out of Frank or instances such as this when they needed a lift.

Taking advantage of his interest, Miranda flashed him a radiant smile and was grateful that her Norwegian was passable enough to be understood. She approached his casually, aware of the frown that was on Frank's face as she sauntered to the driver's side window.  The man lowered it immediately and looked up at her with a similarly inviting smile.

"Do you need help?" He asked.

"Yes," she answered. "I was out here looking for a job when all the trouble happened. I've been stuck here all night, waiting for help."

"British yes?" He asked, noting her accent and switching to English.

"That's right," Miranda nodded grateful for that respite. "I wonder can you give me a lift. I need to get back to the city center."

"There is a mess there too," he answered. "I'm coming to bring my uncle out of Oslo until things are back to normal. I can give you a lift."

"Thank you," she smiled gratefully, watching him carefully as he started to turn away.  He had no sooner turned his back to her when Miranda threw out her fist in a single, concentrate strike. Her knuckles connected with the back of his skull, making the sound of a single hard  thwack of flesh before he slumped sideways without uttering another word. Straightening up as she surveyed the area to ensure she had not been seen, Miranda proceeded to open the car door.

"You can come out now," she called out to no one in particular as she dragged her unconscious victim out of the car and left him on the pavement.

"We're not stealing his car," Frank stared at her in shock.

"We need to get to city and we don't have a lot of time," she met his gaze. "This was your plan."

"My plan was a nice walk," he said reproachfully, "not highway robbery."

"You got to admit, she's affective," Eric grinned, deciding that even if she wasn't his sister, he did love this woman's style.

"You didn't kill him did you?" Frank asked as he looked at the dark bruise forming on the man's temple.

"No," Miranda looked at him as she slipped into the driver's seat of the car, "he'll be asleep for a couple of hours."

Frank gave her a look, "you couldn't do this to that plumber who tried to overcharge us two months ago?"  He asked as he slipped into the seat next to her. 

"It would lose something in the translation," Miranda retorted and looked over her shoulder to ensure that the rest of her companions had climbed into the car.

"This is not seemingly," Elladan remarked as he found himself sandwiched between Elrohir and Eric while Jason had tumbled into the back of the station wagon and had stretched out comfortably.  The younger son of Elrond Peredhil did not think it appropriate that he ought to be party to stealing some helpless bystander's vehicle. "That man has done us no harm."

"Relax," Miranda replied as she slipped the car into gear and wished inwardly that it were an automatic since it would make navigating these streets a good deal easier, "he's probably insured."

"I do not understand," Elrohir returned with understandable confusion.

"It means he'll be compensated for the loss of his car," Frank explained as best as he could. "We could get into trouble with the police you know," he turned back to Miranda," the last thing we need is the Nazgul and the authorities chasing us."

"I wouldn't worry," Miranda returned as the car starting moving, "its not like he can call anybody to report it missing."

"She's got a point," Jason sang out.

 Miranda shook her head as the debate continued, thinking silently to herself.

 _Men_.

************

Looking out the window, it felt as if they were imprisoned at the highest peak of a great castle. Beneath them were undulating hills of green, forming a valley that surrounded a river so blue that it seemed painted almost. The sky was a canvas of similar beauty, a cruel taunt to the two boys who trapped indoors, unable to experience the heat of its sunshine against their skin. It beckoned them from beyond the glass, whispering its words of freedom and comfort and yet remained maddeningly beyond their reach.

Sam looked through the glass and knew that somewhere in that beauty, his parents were searching desperately for him and his brother. He could feel it in his bones, giving him the strength to prevail despite the fear that threatened to consume his young body whole like a tasty morsel disappearing down the gullet of some dark beast. He was afraid but he dared not feel it.  He looked over his shoulder at Pip who was lying on the bed, scrunched up on his side like a baby.  They had never spent a single night away from their parents and now it was more than a day since they had seen either.  Pip was taking it very hard and it was a fear worsened by the fact that they both knew what had taken them away was not quite human, that they were gripped in events steeped in dark magic where they were powerless.

Footsteps outside the locked door of their spacious but inescapable prison forced Sam away from the window and Pip to sit up straight on the bed.  Hours ago, they had been deposited into this room by a woman who had introduced herself to them as Irina wearing a smile Sam knew was merely a facade from her true feelings.  He had seen something in her eyes as she looked at him, a flicker of predatory interest that made his skin crawl.  Her words had escaped her like syrup, smooth and lingering but their substance felt tainted somehow.  When she had left them, he was glad and felt the tightness in his chest evaporate.  Now that he heard her approach, the same anxiety returned.

“She’s coming back,” Pip looked at him fearfully.

“They can’t hurt us,” Sam hurried to his brother’s side and took Pip’s hand in his as they sat on the bed, waiting for the inevitably opening of the door.  “They want something from dad.”

“What?” Pip stared at him in question.

“I don’t know,” Sam said honestly. Their abductors’ words in the car had been hard enough to understand with Sam being grateful that he had learnt as much as he did. However, Pip’s question was the only thing that Sam could not decipher. The words used were beyond his understanding and Sam had given up trying because he learnt enough to be certain that they were both safe for the moment. “Something important I think.”

Pip was about to open his mouth to inquire further when the turning doorknob silenced him and both their eyes turned swiftly to it.  The door opened a moment later, creaking wider apart as their visitors entered the room.  The woman they had seen earlier was leading their abductors in the dark suits past the doorway although there was not as many of them as before. 

Upon catching sight of them, the woman smiled and reinforced Sam’s belief that everything she said to them would be a lie.

“Hello there,” she greeted, her voice was pleasant enough but its intent was lost by the presence of her companions. “I would have thought you too would have caught up on your sleep. After all, you have had a long night.”

“If we were asleep you would have woke us up,” Sam pointed out.

Irina looked at the child that had was the reincarnation of the enemy that had helped to bring David to his complete and utter ruin in the ages of Middle Earth.  She did not know much about this child but suspected that very little escaped him.  Eyes with a keen intellect bore into her even as she approached him and his young brother.  Most likely a trait acquired from his past incarnation as well as some inherited instincts from his mother, whom Irina had acquired all available information about by this time. Once she knew which Miller was related to Bryan, it was not easy to learn everything she could about the family.

The Nazgul claimed that the child was adamant that his mother would come for them. After reading Miranda Miller nee Wynne’s file located from their inside contacts in MI6, it was easy to understand why.  The husband was an academician who probably knew very little about coping in the outside world beyond his field of study and she anticipated little difficulty in getting him to cooperate. However, the mother was an entirely different matter and it did not help that she sensed some trepidation in the Nazgul at her eventual appearance. 

Morgul was determined to kill her but his courage was tempered by vengeance. The others were not so certain they could make the kill without suffering that which they intended to visit upon her. In any case, it was probably best for Irina to conclude her business with Frank Miller and then exterminate them all to prevent further complications.

“That’s very true Sam,” Irina remarked and sauntered over to a chair and sat down near the bed. “Now, you, your brother and I must have a talk.”

“We want to go home,” Sam said abruptly.

“Once your father does what he is told, I will be more than happy to let you go home to them,” Irina lied.

“What do you want him to do?” Pip asked.

“Well,” she learned forward, giving the Nazgul who were standing at the door a little smile before she answered, “your father can get something for me.  When he does, I will release you to him.”

“What is it?” Sam asked suspiciously.

“Nothing that you need worry about,” Irina said smoothly, seeing no reason to let the boy know that his father would be unleashing his future master.  Irina had no intention of releasing any of the children but there was no need for them to know that at this point.  Unlike David, whose experience with children was miniscule if not entirely non-existent, Irina knew something of them and allowing them to believe that they would be returned to their parents would minimize any escape attempt. Still, judging by the bold defiance in the older child's face, Irina was convinced that he bore watching. When David was returned to her, he would be delighted by the gift of one of the Ringbearers for whom he held so much hatred. 

If anything Sam would prove more entertaining because there was so much spirit to break.

"Can we talk to them?" Sam ventured to ask. 

"Not at this time," Irina replied, amused by the child's efforts to gain concessions, no doubt believing it would give him and his brother opportunity to reveal their location to their parents. "There's been a 'problem' in the city where they live and none of the phones are working. I'm sure you'll be able to talk to them soon."

"I don't believe you," he snapped.

"Now it isn't polite to assume that someone whom you just met is a liar," Irina said reproachfully, turning her high-powered gaze at the child. However, if she was expecting him to withdraw, she was soon disappointed.  He stared back at her with open animosity and Irina wondered how it was possible for so much will to exist in a child so young.

"You are lying! You took us from mum and dad. That's a bad thing already, why should we think you wouldn't you lie too?" He challenged her.

Heaven help her, Irina thought as she stared at the boy in light of his vehement response, she could start to like him.

"You shouldn't," Irina answered. "And I don't have to give you an explanation."

With that, she turned on her heels and walked out of the room, the Nazgul following her. 

"You shouldn't have made her angry," Pip declared once she was gone, her departure leaving a chill through their bones.

"She was lying," Sam said petulantly. 

"If you keep being bad, they might not let us go," Pip replied with a frown.

"I don't think they'll let us go anyway," Sam answered, still staring at the door.

"But they said…"

"They're lying." Sam stared at his brother. "We have to get out of here on own, somehow."

"But we're high up in the mountains," Pip insisted, his fear so thick that it was choking him.

Sam hugged his brother, hoping the gesture would wipe the anxiety from his face but his hugs did not have the same power as their mother or their father. 

"Pip, we have to get out of here," he said when he pulled away from his brother again. "I don't know how I know but they're not telling us the truth and I think if we stay, it will be very bad."

Pip wanted to understand, truly he did but his brother was speaking to him with an understanding of the situation he could not begin to fathom. However, Sam never lied to him, at least about the true things and he sensed that this was a very true thing that Sam was saying.

"How are we going to do it?" Pip asked after a long moment.

"I don't know," Sam answered, wishing he did have an answer. "But I'm going to think of a way. I think if dad does this thing for them, it will hurt all of us, not just you and me but _everyone_."

************

 

"The boy is trouble," Morgul hissed as they walked down the hall away from the room where their two prisoners were currently held. "We should kill him now."

"Their parents aren’t fools," Irina paused long enough to say, "before they agree to do anything, they will want confirmation that their sons are alive. Until Frank Miller gets David back for us, we are going to ensure those children remain that way." She cast him a look that revealed her insistence on the matter.

"It is a waste of effort but I will comply for now," Morgul hissed in open dislike to those orders.

 Irina paused in the hallway and stared at her reflection in the Nazgul's dark glasses, "it may be prudent to move them below where we can be certain they won't escape."

"They cannot escape now," he retorted. "They are merely children and my brothers and I are more than capable of dealing with them."

Irina chose not to point out the Nazgul had not been terribly efficient about dealing with them when those children had been hobbits making their way across the country with the Master Ring. However, there was no reason to get into another contest of wills with the phantom creature. They had an uneasy alliance borne out of mutual need and despite their obvious dislike for one another, they were united in their common purpose of retrieving David Saeran.  She supposed she could afford to be magnanimous by holding her tongue on what she thought of his capabilities. 

"Children can surprise you," Irina returned instead of saying what was really on her mind, "besides, I'll have need of you when we begin our negotiations with Professor Miller." 

"He may cooperate but his woman will be coming here," Morgul replied with utter certainty. 

"She doesn't even know where we are," Irina retorted. "Even if she did find her way here, which is unlikely, I seriously doubt she'll be any match for what we have waiting her and her children down below." 

"She is far more formidable than you give her credit," Morgul met Irina's gaze. 

"I am perfectly aware what she is," Irina retorted. "However, you may be correct in this instance. Miranda Miller nee Wynne is formerly of MI6, This information reached us by way of the contact we still have in the intelligence community. Officially retired after her marriage to Frank Miller, brother of Bryan, which is undoubtedly how they met.  Our agents could not retrieve the specifics of her missions because she was apparently a deep cover operative but the combat training for female agents is no less rigorous than it is for the males. That is why we need to move quickly, if we act fast, we will give them no chance to make any foolhardy efforts at rescue, even if there is a chance of her finding us here.

Morgul was forced to concede her reasoning was sound though he wanted the chance to face the shield maiden again. She had surprised him with typical human resilience, a quality that had caused him to be captured unawares by more than one instance in the past.  There was a time when he was human too but that day was so far in the past, he barely remembered it at all. The only vestiges of that previous existence, before he had been called to serve the Master, was his name and he was convinced beyond that, his humanity had little else value. 

“Let her come,” Morgul replied with no small feeling of hatred for his nemesis. “The time of prophecy is done, this time I will kill her.” 

“I’m sure you will,” Irina answered, not really caring about his personal vendettas, “but not until we finish what we have to do.” She glared at him. “All that matters is the retrieval of David, is that clear?” 

“You need not remind me of my loyalties to my Master,” Morgul hissed back, incensed by her audacity to think that Sauron’s welfare would be impeded by his thirst for vengeance. “I served him before you were even conceived in the mind of your ancestors. I will serve him long after you are dead and certainly after he tires of you.” 

Irina stiffened at the insult, “that may be but you will serve nothing if he is not returned to us and to do that we need all the pieces on the board, even Miranda Miller. Whatever personal desires you may have in this matter can wait but bear in mind that as long as we have her children, you can be assured of getting your confrontation eventually.” 

“That is acceptable,” Morgul answered, deciding that he would live for the day when Sauron tired of this human and he was allowed to kill her. He would have already done so if not for the fact that his master had some connection to this female and could possibly be distressed by her passing.  Even if he did not feel that way, Sauron did not like his possessions harmed without his saying so and this female, despite her posturing, was undoubtedly that. 

“Good,” Irina replied. “We should move the children below immediately. I don’t know how much time we have but it won’t be long before their parents begin to regroup. You say there are elves in their company?” 

“Yes,” Morgul nodded, “I think they may be the children of the Peredhil.” 

“The Peredhil?” She looked at him.

“The Master of Imladris, Elrond,” he explained. “He is an elven lord of considerable healing skills and power. His sons were companions of the Dunedain, Isildur’s heir.  They are formidable in battle and they will undoubtedly know our ways. Their father’s realm was westward of here but I doubt that they would suspect us being here.” 

Irina shook her head in frustration. She loved David, she truly did but she had to wonder the wisdom of both him and his master, John Malcolm in establishing their places of power in locations that were known to them in Middle earth. Though almost as formidable as their hideout in Romania, she knew David had chosen this place for his Germanic residence because the Harz mountains were what were left of the mountain range he once knew to be Misty Mountains. 

“They found us in Romania,” she countered. “They knew it was Mordor.” 

“Olorin was in their presence,” Morgul replied, still smarting at their utter failure to protect their master during that occasion. “A maia of Manwe has considerable power, these elves do not. There will not be a repeat of what has taken place before. In the depths below, the Uruks will ensure that the children will be guarded and should their mother find a way to reach them, their reunion will be brief.” 

“I hope you’re right,” she muttered under her breath, “if we lose this chance. It will never come again.” 

***********

 

From inside the station wagon across the street, Frank Miller stared at the tower of glass and steel that was the Malcolm Industries' headquarters in Oslo. Despite the fact that the Silmaril had brought the city to a virtual standstill, it appeared that this was not the case for the corporate front of the Nazguls' master. A few cars were parked in the front parking lot that did not appeared to have been damaged by the energy wave that had made all others in the city useless as transportation.  Frank suspected that these might have come from beyond the blast radius of the wave, to bring supplies and components for destroyed electronics. Whatever the reason, it ensured that there would be someone there to answer their questions about the company. 

"Are we sure we want to do this?" Jason asked as he saw many of the men walking in and out of that room were carrying guns. These were undoubtedly security people brought into protect the building from looters. Considering the damage they had seen as they drove to the city center, it was not an unreasonable precaution when they had seen so many shop fronts broken into during the blackout by unscrupulous individuals taking advantage of the disaster. 

"We need information," Frank said without looking at the younger man peering over the top of the back seat from the rear compartment of the vehicle.  "This is the fastest way." 

"They're not simply going to answer our questions you know," Eric pointed out skeptically. He understood Frank and Miranda's determination to retrieve their children but this did not seem like the best way to go about doing it. 

"They will if you know whom to ask," Miranda answered coldly reloading her gun once more. She had only a few spare shells left, not enough to fill the magazine but enough to ensure she could do what was needed. 

"What exactly is your plan Miranda?" Elladan asked, preferring to be more constructive since it was obvious that the woman was thinking two steps ahead of everyone else. 

"I'm going to go in there and find out who knows about the Nazgul and where they might have taken Sam and Pip." 

"And if they don't tell us?" Eric looked at her. 

"Then I shall proceed to break every bloody bone in their bodies," she said before climbing out of the car leaving a noticeable silence. 

"Well," Elrohir said after a moment, not knowing what else to say, "I suppose that is _some_ sort of plan." 

Frank shook his head and jumped out of the car after his wife, uncertain at this new side of her. In truth, he had always suspected what she did for a living before entering his life to play the part of wife and mother.  Existing in the place between suspecting and knowing for certain had given Frank some measure of comfort. He regarded his brother in the same when it came to what Bryan did in his professional life.  However, since this nightmare had been thrust upon them, the woman who had loved him the past decade, who had raised his children with gentle if somewhat possessive intensity was transforming into someone else and he could not deny that this new persona was rather intimidating. 

"Miranda," he called out as he hastened his pace to join her.  Behind him he could hear the others making similar moves. "We are not going in there 'guns blazing' so to speak." 

"We can't play it safe this time Frank," she retorted, continuing across the street towards the building. "We have to get them back and now." 

"We will," Frank insisted, "but going in there and playing the thug will accomplish nothing but put us on the most wanted list and that won't help the boys." 

"They won't give it us any other way," Miranda declared. 

"Miranda, stop," Frank grabbed her by the arm and forced her to look at him. "Those people in there most likely have no idea who is running their company. Most of them are security people and maintenance workers. I want to go in there and find out what other holdings they have. Wherever they're keeping the boys, its not in corporate headquarters like this.  Also I want to find out who have been running things if David Saeran is presently in Valinor under house arrest. We find that person and we can find our children."

Miranda could not deny his words but she also knew deep inside that negotiation with these creatures was not possible. In her time she had met evil men who had no aid from the supernatural to make them what they were, just an in grained darkness that gave them a contempt for all other things. She knew how to predict their action because evil twisted one into familiar patterns of behavior and the Nazgul despite their powers and their inability to die were no different. She knew what they were about even if she did not understand how they could exist.  She knew their fanaticism and their hatred; it was no different that of any crazed bomber who was prepared to die for his god. The only difference in this case was that the Nazgul's god was not some non-existence incorporeal entity whose existence would never be proven to any satisfaction but rather a dark lord encased in human flesh.

She loved Frank and his acumen but he had never met people like this and had no experience with understanding how they would act. 

"Frank, they'll kill the boys no matter what we do," she said quietly. 

He met her gaze with just as much understanding, "I know." 

Miranda's brow arched.  "How do you know?" 

"I know because we're never going to convince these Valar to hand over Saeran," he said with absolute certainty in his eyes. "Elladan and Elrohir haven't said as much but I can see it in their eyes." 

"But we have the jewel…" Miranda started to say but Frank cut her off. 

"We have a jewel that's been buried under the snow for the last one hundred thousand years, that the enemy can't do a thing with.  In fact, unless you're an elf or a Valar, it’s a very pretty bauble that will burn your hand off the minute you tried to do anything. Oh I'm certain they'd like it back but not enough to unleash a monster like Saeran into the world again.  He almost destroyed this entire planet six months ago if Byran and his friends hadn't stopped him.  They're not going to release him so that he can come into this world to do it again, not for two boys." 

Miranda wanted to protest, to say that these 'gods' that Elladan and Elrohir worshipped would not be so callous as to ignore the plight of Sam and Pip but she knew Frank was right. When she was in the service, it was an unpleasant reality that people had to be sacrificed for the greater good, even civilians who had done nothing to warrant such brutality. How many times has they watched the news to learn of the terrorist funded building that was bombed, even though it was highly possible that the janitorial or the maintenance staff had no terrorist aspirations and were simply doing a job when they were in the building. They had been sacrificed for the purpose of expediency and if Frank were right about these Valar, then it would be equally prudent for them to wash their hands of the situation.  The lives of two children against the fate of the world mattered little. 

Except to her and Frank.

"Oh god…" she stammered.

 "We're going to get them back," Frank said before her nerve crumbled. He hated to put things to her so starkly but Miranda had to know what was at stake. "If I have to make the exchange, I'll do it just to buy time but only so that you can get to the boys. You know I always knew you were strong and brave but I never knew how much until now. You were amazing, Mir," he replied with no small amount of awe in his eyes as he spoke, "when I saw you face up to that Nazgul, I never felt so lucky in my life that you're my wife. We'll get through this together Miranda and we'll get out children back, I promise you that." 

Miranda swallowed thickly, wondering how it was possible for him to make her feel so safe even when she was frightened out of her mind. Frank's words had made her face up to possibilities that had been nagging at the back of her thoughts, fears she had not wanted to confront until now. However, he was right, they had to go into this knowing the agenda of those around them. There would be no help from these Valar even when Frank made his way across the sea to plead for the exchange. Ultimately, rescuing their children was their responsibility alone and they did not have a great deal of time to act. 

By this time the others had reached them at the sidewalk although Frank suspected they might have lagged behind a little to allow he and Miranda to talk. Now that was accomplished, it was time to get moving. 

"Let me do the talking when we get in," Eric said upon reaching them. 

"Really?" Jason looked at the newsman. 

"Yeah," Eric retorted, "I have plans too you know." 

"But they mostly involve women you're planning on…" 

"Will you trust me?" Eric barked before Jason could finish that sentence. "Look, I can get us in past the front doors at least. Can you translate if they don't understand English?" He looked at Frank. 

"Marginally," Frank replied, "what do you want to do?" 

"Exploit the human need to be on television," Eric grinned and took the lead. 

"What?" Elrohir stared at the others in question. 

"We'll explain later," Jason replied rolling his eyes and hurried to join his partner. 

***********

  
The interior of the Malcolm branch in Oslo was exactly what would expect from a multi-billion dollar corporation. The building had not escaped the ravages of the previous night's catastrophe as evidenced by the broken glass and debris in the main foyer. It was clear that looters had smashed their way through the main entrance and had attempted to breach the upper levels of the building. Fortunately, the loss of power to the lifts, not to mention the locked doors had prevented any real damage from being done.  Maintenance crews and security personnel were zigzagging across the floor, all armed with satellite phones that were not limited were local network cells that cellular phones needed to operate. They were going about the business of clearing the damage as well as establishing interim security systems while the power was disabled. 

Eric had not taken more than a dozen steps inside the building when he was suddenly confronted by a very large blond behemoth named Johan Richards as revealed by the nametag on his uniform. Judging by the way he marched imperiously towards them, Eric deduced immediately that the man was a security guard of some description although the weapon he wore at his hip was evidence enough of this already. Eric glanced over his shoulder long enough to indicate to Frank and the others that he would handle this. Hopefully Johan here would understand English because the ruse would lose all its flair if delivered through a translator. 

"You speak English mate?" He asked the man, stepping up with a casual smile. 

"I speak English," the man responded hesitantly, off balanced by his inability to demand of these strangers their purpose for being in the building at this time.

"Eric Rowan from Channel Nine News, Sydney," Eric greeted, extending a hand out and presenting his press card before turning to Jason. "You better have a look around the place and decide what you need, these people don't need us getting under their feet, do they? This is my news crew, they just need to look about and get a feel for what equipment we'll need. Got to work fast if we want to make the news back home," he fired at Johan who could only stare back in rising confusion. 

"News?" He stammered. 

"Yeah," Eric replied walking past him and surveying the place as Jason did the same, only in an opposite direction. "I must say its chaos all over the city Johan, news crews are flying in from all over the world. I was here to do a magazine show myself about the bloody fjords so I'm pretty lucky to get in ground up. Now were you here when the wave hit?" 

"No," Johan muttered, his mind struggling to grasp the situation he was suddenly embroiled. "I was at home." 

"Just as well," Eric retorted walking towards a shattered window, "it looks like it got pretty messy. Now, this is what I'll need. I figure a human interest angle to the catastrophe would be the best way to go. I'll need to talk to everyone who was here.  You look like you know the ins and outs of this company so if you could round them up, I'd much appreciate it. Also, I think I'd like to focus on you as the main crux of the story. My cameraman will follow you about during your survey of the wreckage, give the folks at home a chance to see things from your point of view, what do you think?" 

"Me?" Johan was suitably flabbergasted by now. 

"Of course you," Eric crossed the distance between them and patted the huge man on the shoulder. "You're the unsung hero of this entire place, the one who holds things together and makes sure that people keep their heads in crisis situation. That's what we want people to see. You will be the strong face of this tragedy. Now I know that your own countrymen will be after you for their local news but I am authorized by Channel Nine to pay you a generous fee if you let us have first crack. What do you think Jason?" 

"I think we need a bit more light here," he glanced at Frank and the others, "what do you think?" 

"I guess so," Frank answered, almost as mystified as Johan by Eric's words and the manner in which he delivered it, which was so utterly phony that it could only be interpreted as genuine and sincere. Fortunately, Johan did not look to be very intelligent and Eric obviously had more than ample experience manipulating public response.

"We'll need a couple of more spots in here, there's not a lot of natural light thanks to the light being shorted out," Jason added, giving Frank the impression this was not the first time the duo had used this particular trick to get into restricted places.

"That's fine," Eric agreed, not missing his cue in this hastily crafted play, "now Johan, we're going to have to take a look at the upper levels. My people need to know what kind of equipment we'll need. If you could let us go upstairs while you round up the people who were here, I'd appreciate it." 

It appeared that by this time Johan had developed some measure of composure and had presence of mind enough to remark, "I will have to clear this with my superiors." 

"Fine, fine," Eric said dismissively, "and while you're doing that, my people can get to work so that you can do what I ask when you do get your clearance. Look, the news business doesn't wait for anyone and I don't have time to waste. Suffice to say my boss Kerry Packer and David Saeran are golfing buddies so I don't think there will too much of a bother." 

Eric glanced at the others to remain close to him as he started moving towards the door. There was just enough indecision in the man's face to convince Eric that he would allow them access.  Miranda followed without question, bringing with her Frank and the elves as Johan went to the staircase that was barred to them by a heavy steel door, fumbling with a set of shiny keys. There was still some measure of reluctance on his face but Eric's spiel had been delivered convincingly enough for him to give them access to the rest of the building.  Eric's face revealed nothing he waited for Johan to open the door.  Miranda was suitably impressed at how good an actor he was a supposed that it was a necessary trait of his profession. 

When the door opened, Eric launched once more into his act, not about to rouse suspicion when they were so close to what they needed. 

"Okay Johan," Eric grinned, "now when you get clearance from your people, don't forget to gather everyone in the lobby. I want to start taking notes for the interviews straight away.  Miranda, do you think he'll need some make up work?" He asked her. 

With a perfectly manufactured smile, Miranda glanced briefly at Johan, before answering; "he's impressive the way he is but I may need to touch his coloring a little." 

"Excellent," Eric answered and started to the open door, "see you in awhile Johan." 

With that, all six of them disappeared into the darkened staircase, leaving one very confused security guard to go find a satellite phone in order to reach their Paris Headquarters.

 

**********

 "I am impressed," Elladan said as they made their way up the staircase a short time later, "I do not recall Eomer of Rohan being so adept at deception." 

"Thanks," Eric glanced over his shoulder as he struggled to see inside the darkened staircase that was really the fire stairs. "Like I said never underestimate the human need to take center stage. Most security guards I might are usually ex-police or something like that, people who are used to being in charge and like being in charge if you get what I mean. Their narcissism lends easily to exploitation."

 

"I'll take your word for it," Frank replied, grateful for any method that did not employ gunfire at this stage.

"Thanks for making me the bloody makeup girl you sexist twit," Miranda grumbled. 

"Well if you were my sister in a previous life, I'm just making up for lost time," Eric said cockily through the darkness. "Besides, isn't it a brother's duty to make your life hell?" 

"That is for certain," Elladan replied. 

Elrohir snorted, "in that case it is time I told you that you are adopted." 

"We are twins," Elladan reminded. 

"There is no proof of that," his sibling countered. "All I know is that on the day I was born, you were there. We don't even look like twins.  Father is very eccentric, he probably found you discarded somewhere and took pity on you by surprising mother. After several hours of labor, who could tell where you came from?" Elrohir smirked devilishly. 

"Well that answers that," Miranda declared through the darkness.

"What?" Frank asked, somewhat bemused by the twin's bickering. 

"That men are idiots no matter how old they are."

 

***********

There is a place beneath the world so deep and forgotten that most do not believe it exists. In your heart, you know it does, like you know that souls are sometimes trapped in trees and evil finds the hearts of children the most fertile place to breed. There are things that you know despite what you have learnt, despite what books and science tells you.  You know it by instinct and by senses you cannot name but feel in every pore of your being.   Just like you know that heaven and hell exists and there is real reason to fear it. It exists in the way you live your life, in the adherence to morality as more than just acceptable behavior but at the real fear of being accountable when the dusk of your life finally claims you.

In his heart, Sam knew this place existed just like he knew that the Black Riders were real.  In his mind's eye and revealed to him only by dreams, he had seen it. There was a memory somewhere inside him, buried as deeply as this place was hidden in the depths of the world, that would explain it all but he had no way to access those important facts and so he was clambering in a darkness, almost as consuming as the place he was being taken to beneath the castle.

Sam knew he had been here before but how he knew, he could not say.

He felt Pip's fingers clenched within his, unable to ignore the shaking in his brother's hands. As they descended into the darkness, feeling the depths swallow them whole like the whale that had taken Pinocchio into its gullet, he knew Pip was near terrified out of his mind. Sam was no different but he was better at hiding it than his younger brother. The Nazgul that escorted them into this nightmare seemed oblivious to their deteriorating state of mind but Sam was certain that any fear displayed by either child would be a reason for him to gloat.   Sam would not allow him that satisfaction. 

"Where are they taking us?" Pip stammered through his tears. 

"Nowhere," Sam replied, "they're just trying to frighten us." 

"We're going down so deep," Pip replied as he stared upward at the disappearing pinprick of light that was the surface.

When they had stepped into the lift, Sam had thought little of it except to find it curious that it was more like a mesh cage than its counterparts in most buildings. They had traveled downwards for many minutes, surrounded by a shaft that allowed them to see nothing. What light there was came from the illumination of a small service light at the top of the shaft. It was when the light almost disappeared that Sam saw the shaft disappearing and they began descending what seemed to be an enormous cavern. How far beneath the earth he could not say but he felt cold and it was a cold that was very different from the temperatures of Norway. 

The chill of ice pierced the walls of his heart the way it would pierce the skin. While he maintained his composure, Pip had lost control of his and his brother had started to weep as they continued downwards, suspended by wires and pulleys that lowered them further and further into this alien realm. The air smelt bad. It turned Sam's stomach because he could scent the stench of things rotten and dying. It reminded him of rotting leaves or worse. He began to imagine that all the bodies that were ever put into graves eventually found its place here.  The thought alone almost destroyed his sanity. 

And yet there was something about this place that felt terribly familiar. 

He could not understand why, but he knew he had been here before even though it was impossible. A place like, he would remember.  More than ever, he wished his mother and father were here, he wished it not only for himself but also for Pip.

"Where are we going?" Sam finally braved the question of the Nazgul.  For Pip's sake alone, they needed an answer. 

"Where you cannot escape," the Nazgul hissed.

Sam turned away and swallowed, seeing nothing below but darkness and feeling this soul-crushing well of despair at realizing that the Nazgul was right. As Pip's tears grew in intensity, Sam began to realize that it may well be that neither of them would ever see mum or dad again. 

There was really no escape from this place.


	11. The Malcolm Building

While Eric and Jason had been performing their play to the helpless Johan, Frank had been carefully studying the building directory, trying to discern where would be the best place to find the information they sought regarding the hierarchy of Malcolm Industries.

It did not take him long to note the location of the branch director's office on the upper floors of the building and upon sourcing that information, filed it away until such time they were able to pursue it.  Frank also took stock of how many security guards were on the lower floor and how well armed they were.  He noticed that Miranda was also making similar observations and was once again struck by how much he did not know about this wife. 

For so long, her past had been her secret to keep, he saw no reason to intrude. He knew some of it was painful which was why he did not insist upon her telling him.  However, the last day had made him realize that there was a phantom that existed beneath the visage of wife, mother and lover that could emerge at a moment’s notice when needed and take control of the woman he had come to love these past years. He did not fear this new aspect of her but he did wonder how much else she had hidden away from him. When this was all over, Frank resolved himself to tell Miranda that he loved her and everything that she was, even the parts that could be somewhat intimidating.

“Where are we going?” Eric asked as they hurried up the stairs, determined to put as much distance between themselves and Johan the security guard who would eventually come to his senses about their reason for being in the building.

“Top floor,” Frank sand out further down the staircase.

“What’s there?” Jason asked, not relishing the climb but seeing that they had no other choice.

“The branch director’s office,” Frank declared, “if anyone knows about whose running this company now that Saeran is gone, it should be him.”

“I hope you’re right,” Miranda retorted, “because once they find out we’re not from Channel Nine News, they’re going to be coming after us with guns blazing and I don’t have the firepower to stop them.”

“Your optimism is scary,” Eric grumbled. “Was she like this back then too?” He asked the twins, panting slightly as they left the lower levels behind and began to feel the strain of their ascent.

“I did not know the Lady Eowyn well,” Elladan confessed sincerely and it was the truth. He had met Eowyn during the few times he had been at the court of Gondor, when his visits coincided with that of the lady and her husband, the Prince of Ithilien. She was a great friend to Arwen when his sister had become queen and then there was of course her fame as the warrior maiden who had vanquished the Witch King.  “ However, I do recall hearing the gossip regarding her and Estel when he arrived in Rohan during the War of the Ring.”

 “Gossip?” Miranda’s voice rose an octave.

“Yes,” Elladan sniggered, wondering whether or not he should be making these revelations and then deciding that it could do no harm since the present incarnations of their friends felt only a fragmentary connection to the people they had once been, “apparently Eowyn had feelings for Estel.”

“Legolas has a big mouth,” Elrohir retorted aware of where that morsel of news had come and thinking that it was not prudent to make such comments when there was every possibility that Miranda could one day meet Aaron Stone.

“Who is Legolas?” Frank had to ask.

“A very pretty elf,” Elladan replied, the darkness hiding the smirk on his face.

“So who was this Estel?” Miranda asked with some measure of curiosity regarding her former self’s past infatuations.  Besides, talk of the past however, improbable it still felt to her, made her forget about the present and the children who were lost to her.

“Wasn’t he one of the Fellowship guys?” Jason declared, remembering what the twins had told them earlier about Sauron, the Master Ring and the quest to destroy the thing. 

“Your memory serves you well,” Elrohir answered back, “yes, we called him Estel for that was his name when he dwelt with us in Imlardis but his true name was Aragorn.”

Frank did not know that he liked the idea of Miranda having another love in her life, even if it was from a past life of a hundred thousand years ago.  However, he kept that bit of jealousy to himself and supposed he was being worried for nothing since this Aragorn person no longer existed.

“So what happened?” Miranda inquired, “She found out he was married or something?” She remarked offhandedly as romantic scandals often involved such complications.

“Engaged actually,” Elladan answered, wondering if women had some insight that allowed them to make these leaps so accurately.

Miranda rolled her eyes, “typical.”

*************

 

It took them another ten minutes before they made their way to the very last floor of the tall building. Considering the time taken and the number of floors they had to pass to reach their final destination, it could be said that they had made their journey in good time. However, with the exceptions of the elves, the humans needed a moment to catch their breaths when they finally reached the top. The elves were rather bemused by the deterioration of human stamina, remembering how Aragorn used to travel most places on foot during the days of Middle earth and the hobbits were happily doing the same across the Shire barefoot. 

“I hope this is worth it,” Eric grumbled as he took deep breaths as they emerged in the shadowy hallway.

Except for the natural light coming through the tinted windows, the building was devoid of any other illumination. Stale air remained trapped in the spaces between walls, heightening the smell of carpet and dust.  Despite the cool temperatures outside, it felt balmy as they made their way down the corridor, following the small directory plaque near the lift doors.  Frank took the lead since it was his idea to begin with, urgency dogging his steps as Miranda’s warning about the security guards loomed heavily on his thoughts.  In truth, he had no idea whether or not this plan of finding the person in charge of Malcolm Industries now would help them in their search for Sam and Pip but at the time, it was all he could think off. Miranda had desperately needed to believe they had some plan to recover the boys.

Frank could not deny that he felt terribly out of depth with everything that was happening and worst yet, it seemed that everyone was looking to him for answers. Perhaps it was because he had stepped up to assume it in his efforts to comfort Miranda but it was not a role he relished. Nothing that was happening seemed remotely possible to him and yet a scientist had to rely on what could be proven and unfortunately the Silmaril had erased any doubt in his mind as to what Elladan and Elrohir were claiming. It put everything he knew into question and through these murky waters, he was expected to navigate in order to find some way of helping Sam and Pip.

He could just kill Bryan for this.

He knew that he was being irrational, that his brother had tried to save him and that when he had time to think of it, his anger would fade. However, at the moment, he wanted to throttle his brother for bringing him into this mythic world, a world that he could never turn his back upon now that he knew its existence. Frank did not reveal it to the twins but now that he knew that the history of the world was not at all what he had been lead to believe, there was a burning need for him to understand how it had come about in reality.  He wanted to see the books these elvish people must have accumulated over time; he wanted to understand their language and their culture because they were the living witnesses to the origins of man. Even if the human race sprang from a place called Hildorien and not Africa, as he had always believed, Frank wanted to study this truth for himself.

“Here it is,” Frank exclaimed when the corridor they reached emptied into a larger room where a desk obviously belonging to a secretary was positioned outside the door with a polished brass plaque. Frank was grateful that he could read some Norwegian. He had always had a gift for learning languages quickly and his time in Oslo had nurtured that talent further.

“Samuel Mueller,” Frank announced reading the name. 

“Well let’s see what Samuel has to tell us,” Miranda asked moving past him to enter the room first.

The interior of the absent Mr. Mueller’s office was quite spacious and large. The outer walls of his office were glass and allowed them all a brilliant and spectacular view of the city.  The sun blazed through the thick glass as the blinds to shield the room from the glare had been drawn back. Obviously Mr. Mueller worked late and liked the view of the city at night because it would have been rather difficult to work in such bright light during the day.  An expensive desk containing an equally impressive Apple computer sat against the glass wall.  Other pieces of furniture including a small mini-bar, a leather sofa and an entertainment unit complete with television and audio equipment made up Mr. Mueller’s very luxurious but corporate workspace.

“There’s a filing cabinet over there,” Eric remarked first. As someone who was used to scrounging for information, he was the most adept at finding what they needed.

“What are we searching for?” Elladan asked, uncertain about this course of action.

“We’re trying to find any proof of who is running Malcolm Industries,” Eric explained as he crossed the floor and reached the squat two-drawer cabinet.  “If we can find out who, we may be able to find out where.”

“It’s a pity there’s no power,” Frank frowned as he slid into Mr. Mueller’s chair and stared at the blank computer screen, “I’ll bet what we need to find will be in here.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Eric replied as he pulled the drawer open. “These corporate types like to keep hard copies of everything.  Billion dollar companies can get into a lot of strife if they lose documentation in cyberspace. I wouldn’t be surprised if everything on this computer is backed up in paper somewhere.”

“These devices,” Elrohir stared at them, “we have seen many of them since our arrival here. When Aaron and my sister returned to Valinor from their lands, they brought one of these.  It showed us a great deal of images from your world. Aaron tells us that it connects your world from one end of the globe to another. I would like to understand how.”

“I’d be glad to explain it to you,” Jason replied, having studied electronics from his time in the army. “When we have some time.”

“Keep looking, I’m going to take a look around. If those security guards come looking for us, we’ll need to find another way off this floor?” Miranda declared as she started towards the door.

“We will accompany you,” Elladan offered, “there is little we can contribute here.”

Elrohir seemed to agree and the three left the room a moment later, leaving Frank, Eric and Jason to ransack the room for information. Eric seemed oblivious to their departure as he pulled out a stack of files and handed it to Jason who immediately began thumbing through the leaves of paper within the manila folders.   However once their footsteps faded into the distance, Eric turned to Frank.

“How are you two doing?” The newsman asked much to Frank’s surprise.

“What do you mean?” Frank returned, somewhat taken back by the question.

“How are you holding up?” Eric repeated himself, certain that Frank would catch his meaning eventually.

The realization dawned on the archaeologist an instant later as he understood Eric was referring to the loss of Sam and Pip.  “We’re okay,” Frank swallowed thickly, feeling a fresh stab of pain at being forced to remember the point of their search.  “Keeping our minds on what we need to do is helping, Miranda especially.”

“She’s their mother,” Jason added. “Mums feel it more I guess.”

“Perhaps,” Frank turned away and focussed on the papers in a tray at the corner of Mueller’s desk. “But don’t underestimate how hard it is for dads either. The only reason I can think at all is because my boys need me to hold myself together.  I feel just as gutted as my wife I assure you.”

 

“I didn’t mean...”Jason started to apologize, feeling a little embarrassed that he had thought Frank’s pain would be any less.

“I know,” Frank said quickly, halting his words before he could finish the sentence. “We’re alright,” he assured both Eric and Jason, “and we’ll stay that way for as long as its needed. We’re getting our children back.”

“Bloody oath,” Eric nodded in agreement. “We’ll find them.”

He had never met these children but his feelings for Miranda made him feel just as protective of them as he felt towards their mother. He did not understand why he could feel so deeply for her when all he had were the word of two elves regarding their relationship.  However, Eric could not deny he liked the idea of being a brother and an uncle. If being either had any power to help, he was more than happy to be there for Frank and Miranda.

“Any luck?” Frank asked, clearing his throat as he returned his mind to the business at hand.

“Not much,” Eric frowned, “most of this stuff is written in Norwegian unfortunately. What is in English are mostly memos and things, directives from the London or the Paris office. More Paris than London actually.”

“True,” Jason remarked looking up from the folder he was perusing, “most of the London documentation predate six months ago.  The newer correspondence comes from the Paris office.”

“Yes,” Frank sat up in his chair and paid closer attention to the papers in Mueller’s in and out trays.  “The more recent paperwork has the Paris letterhead,” he commented. “Where did Saeran work from do you know?”  He looked up at them. “Paris or London?”

“London,” Eric said automatically, “if I’m not mistaken he has an estate close to the city.  After the destruction of the corporate center in New York, all business was moved to the London office.”

“And now its in Paris,” Frank declared, their mutual train of thought arriving at the same destination. “Go through the Paris papers,” he instructed quickly, “see if there’s a name there.”

“We need computer access,” Jason grumbled, staring at the machine that was useless as long as the city was entrenched in this power blackout. “Christ knows what he’s got stored in this thing.”

 

"This will have to do," Frank retorted, understanding Jason's sentiments but they had to work for what was within their reach at the present moment.

“Frank,” Eric said as he skimmed through the more recent documents from Paris, “do you keep coming across an Irina Sadko?”

“Yes,” Frank turned to him sharply before reaching for the nearest pile of papers, where he had seen the name.  Leafing through the papers, it did not take him long to locate it. “Here it is,” he sat up straighter in his chair as he read out the contents, “this is a memo from the Paris branch authorizing the purchase of some new property here in Oslo, its signed Irina Sadko. It doesn’t give her title though.”

“Same here,” Eric returned as he looked at his own batch of papers and discovered the same, “doesn’t say who she is but she’s approving new acquisitions, requisition orders and is apparently dictating company policy.  She doesn’t get to make these kinds of decisions unless she’s pretty high up in the food chain.”

“So let’s find her,” Jason declared. “If she’s making policy, she might be close to who we’re looking for or may actually be the one in charge.”

“Sadko,” Eric mused, sounding the name at the tip of his tongue. “Sounds Russian.”

“Probably is,” Frank agreed. “We need to get to a working computer with net access,” he added. “These companies always have web sites with listings of their personnel. We might be able to find out where she is that way.”

"We'll need to get out of the country, or at least beyond the radius of the wave," Eric declared to know one in particular. 

Frank was about to answer when his words were suddenly silenced by the inevitable eruption of gunfire.

***********

 Like any office floor, the upper most level of the Malcolm Building in Oslo contained two fire exits and a lift that was presently disabled thanks to the power blackout that had engulfed the entire city.  As Miranda and the twins made their way through the corridors, seeking an alternate means if their ruse to enter the building was discovered before they could leave it, there was every indication that the building had been hastily evacuated following the energy wave created by the Simaril. For the moment at least, the way seemed clear for them to make a swift departure if necessary. However, Miranda could feel time pressing against her spine, certain that despite Johan's lest than academic manner, the security guard would pursue Eric's story of they being a news team with permission to enter the premises.   Malcolm Industries would not doubt correct that misrepresentation and they would need to get out of here quickly.

She tried to imagine, as they inspected the silent rooms, what it must have been for the workers in this part of the building to be confronted with blackening monitor screens, computers suddenly dying, telephone conversations cut short as the switchboard system lost all calls, the loss of lights and other small catastrophes. Papers were on the floor, filing cabinets left half open. Some had left their belongings behind as evidence by coats and briefcases perched on top of desks.  Miranda did not speak. She rarely did when her mind was set for this sort of action. When she was training in the SAS, she had learnt that silence was golden.  Unnecessary chatter even if seemingly benign surroundings could get you killed.  The twins seemed to understand this and she wondered in their times, how many wars had they fought, how many lives they had taken. They had hunter's eyes, she knew that from the instant she met them but now that there were more than houseguest but rather allies in a dark and sinister situation, she wondered what their true capabilities were.

"The area is secure," she said after long last. "We're alone up here," she added lowering her gun.

"That is for certain," Elladan nodded, wondering where she had been schooled in the arts of stealth and combat.  There was no doubt in his mind that she was a warrior in her own right, for she regarded her situation with the same intensity that Elladan had come to know from Bryan.

"Tell me," Elrohir looked at her, mirroring his brother's unspoken thoughts, "what were you before your marriage?"

Miranda looked up at him, her brows knotting at the question, "why do you ask?"

"You carry a weapon with exceeding familiarity and when we fought the Nazgul, you were able to hold your own against the enemy."

"I wasn't always a housewife," Miranda remarked as she began making her way back to Frank and the others. Hopefully the trio would have found what they needed to by now and they could all leave this place and make some definitive progress in finding Sam and Pip.  Although she understood the need for caution, the more time she spent away from her children, the more she was starting to become convince that she would not find them. It was a spirit crushing belief that she had no wish to indulge but was powerless to prevent thanks the predisposed maternal instinct that was ingrained in every creature capable of giving another life.

"I surmised as much," he remarked with a little smile. "From my sister I have learnt that women in this age are engaged in occupation in the same way as their men, what was yours?"

Miranda supposed that it was no big secret if she were to reveal the truth since it was more or less a given that she had military training, particularly since they had seen her fight. "I worked for the government," she answered after a moment, "in much the same way as Bryan."

Bryan had not been terribly forthcoming in his origins either, Elladan recalled but the explanation sufficed because it was clear from Haldir's accounting of Bryan's capabilities, the human was more than adept at defending himself and anyone against the enemies of Sauron.  Miranda had proven herself in the fashion and it reinforced Elladan's belief of her ability to retrieve her children and deal with the Nazgul who had stolen them.

Suddenly something encroached upon his psyche, like a sudden shadow falling over the warmth of a sunny day.  He raised his eyes but a fraction only to find connection in Elrohir's gaze as his brother felt the same sensation.  Elladan froze, his eyes shifted instantly to the source of the approaching danger, knew in his bones that it was closer than they knew.  In this world, were so much was an unknown, everything resonated with caution and only something powerfully dark like the Nazgul could be sensed immediately. This threat, though nowhere as dangerous, had taken time to weave its way through the noise of so many other concerns to give them its warning.

"They are coming," Elladan exclaimed, "now."

Miranda did not question his perception, not after how they had predicted so accurately that Frank needed her help in the campus a day before. If it were not for their unique senses, Frank would have been in the hands of the Nazgul and his companions left dead. 

"Can you tell where?" She asked immediately because both staircases were located on opposite ends of the building.

"From the passageway we took," Elrohir answered quickly.

"That didn't take long," Miranda cursed under her breath as she started jogging towards the staircase in question.

"Where are you going?" Elladan demanded since the prudent course would be to retrieve the others and exit the building using the other staircase.

"I need a better weapon than this," Miranda retorted as she drew further away, "get Frank and the others and head for the other staircase."

Elladan saw her disappearing around the corner and look to his brother.

"I shall go with her," Elrohir declared, already moving in the direction that Miranda was going.

"Please," Elladan shook his head in disapproval, deciding that Miranda and his sister had a great deal in common particularly when it came to acting impulsively.

**************

 

Miranda did not notice the elf as she took point by the doorway to the staircase until he was directly behind her.  Since entering their lives, Miranda found that the duo were the absolute masters of stealth and shuddered to think what mischief they were capable of if not for their high minded ideals.  Pressing her ear to the wall, she could confirm by hearing what Elladan and Elorhir had alerted her to a short time ago.  Heavy footsteps were making their way up the stairs and the excited voices that preceded them indicated that their deception had been discovered.

"There's at least a dozen of them," Miranda guessed.

"Seven to be exact," Elrohir replied after doing the same and acquiring a more precise numbering his superior elven hearing. "What do you intend?" He asked a moment later, noting the stance she was taking as she waited for their enemies to scale the steps within the staircase to reach them.

"I need a better weapon than this," Miranda replied, frowning at the handgun in her grip, which was almost running on empty. "If we're going to get out of here, I need something with kick."

"Kick?" He looked at her, not understanding the terminology.

"Something that fires more than twenty rounds," she said with a smile.

"We had weapons on our vessel," Elrohir remarked, "weapons which would be of great use to us against the Nazgul but we could not slip them past your customs officials."

"That's modern bureaucracy for you," she responded, "we'll deal with it once we're out of here. I know where we can get some decent weaponry, not just for you but me as well."

Elrohir was going to question her further on the subject when she bid him to be silent as their enemy closed the distance. Miranda maintained her position by the doorway, ensuring that she would see them first. He allowed her to dictate their plan of attack since she had some strategy in mind and he did not wish to hinder her by his presence. Both of them held their breaths simultaneously as the heavy door began to open, the barrel of a rifle making its appearance ahead of the security guards.  The guard emerging from the darkened doorway was acting cautiously as he slowly entered the hallway.

When enough of the weapon came into sight, Miranda reached out and grabbed it in a lightning fast movement, snatching it out of his grip at the same time she threw herself against the door and trapped his arm in the crack with a terrible crunch of bone.  An agonized scream was muffled by the closing door from the security guard whose weapon she had commandeered retracted his arm.  As he did so, Miranda kicked it close and open fire against the doorway. She aimed high at first, riddling the top of the door with bullets, giving those behind it ample margin for escape.

"Get me that waste paper bin!" She barked at Elrohir who looked back at her quizzically, uncertain of what he had asked.

"That thing!" She pointed impatiently and released another barrage of bullets to ensure that if any of the security guards were at the door, they wouldn't be now.  The fact that they were carrying assault rifles seemed to confirm the twin's allegation that Malcolm Industries was the façade for a former lord of Mordor. Security guards were not equipped with these kinds of weapons unless there was something they were determined to protect or acquire. In this case, it was most likely Frank.

Elrohir nodded mutely, retrieving the tall, cylindrical refuse bin and handed it to Miranda who was bracing the door with her foot. Once it was in her hand, she jammed it under the door handle, ensuring that anyone trying to enter the room that way would not have an easy time of it. It was a temporary measure at best but even a margin of a few seconds could mean the difference between escape and capture. Miranda wanted every advantage they could get.

"I do not think this will hold them," Elrohir declared as Miranda turned towards him.

"That's an understatement," she retorted. "Come on, we've got to make it to the other door before they seal up that exit too.  We're almost twenty stories up, we don't have another way out of here."

Elrohir followed her without question because her judgement was sound and he did not wish to be trapped upon this loft height any more than she did.  Even Orthanc had not been as tall as this and he knew that this particular structure in terms of height was nothing out of the ordinary. During his first visit to Arda, in the city where he had found Eve and Aaron, the buildings had been so high that it was enough to steal the breath from his lungs.  He wondered how it was possible to build something so beautiful to behold as well as terrifying all at the same time.

As they drew further away from the corridor, he heard the sound of the door being battered from the other side and turned long enough to see the security guards attempting to break through. Once again, his earlier assertion that the door would not hold for long returned to his memory and he knew that Miranda was right, they had to reach the second door before the enemy had them trap.  Following her lead, he kept her in sight as she navigated the maze like across the uppermost floor of the building.

Another explosion of sound told Elrohir that their pursuers had decided to use bullets in order to force the door open and the noise of discharging weapons filled the air.  The gunfire made Miranda pause but a second as her eyes met his and they understood without exchanging a word, how short their time had become. Their pause was but for an instant before she was running again and as they reached the juncture of intersecting corridor, were reunited with the others.

“Miranda!” Frank called out as he joined his wife, clearly relieved to see no harm had come to her.

“They’re right behind us,” Miranda informed the others hastily.

 “Damn,” Eric cursed under his breath. “That took a lot less time than I hoped. I guessed Johan wasn’t as dumb as he looked.”

 “Did you find what we needed?” She paused long enough to ask.

“We found something,” Frank said with a smile and saw a flood of relief in her eyes at this news. “It could be a long shot but it is the best that we could do.”

 “Here,” Miranda turned to Jason and pulled out the handgun tucked in the front of her jeans. “You know how to use this?”  She asked recalling that he had been quite adept with a gun during their battle with the Nazgul in the university laboratory a day earlier.

“Yeah,” Jason took hold of the weapon and answered, “I can get myself out of trouble with one of these.” 

“There are about six rounds at best,” she explained. “Take it off the rapid fire and fire single shots only. We don’t want to kill anyone, just make certain they keep their distance.”

  
“I got you,” the younger man nodded in understanding and was grateful that she did not expect him to kill anyone.  Being a soldier in peace time had spared him that particular experience and Jason was in no hurry to be blooded, despite strongly suspecting their present situation was going to bring it about eventually.

“Good,” Miranda nodded in approval before turning to the others in the hallway. “We have to get out of here. If those guards smart, they’ll be sending someone up both fire stairs.”

“Then we had best continue on,” Elladan declared, prompting the group into movement once more.

Hurrying through the corridors, they made their way across the floor, passing empty offices in dim hallways.  The sound of pursuit grew louder in their ears as they heard the security guards breaking through the barricade of the fire stairs and shouting out orders to one another to find the intruders.  It did not take long for the enemy to discern their location and even as they approached the second fire stairs, Miranda suspected that their avenue of escape might already be severed.

“I’ll go first,” she said approaching the door.

“Miranda, are you sure about this?” Frank asked, not liking the fact that his wife was throwing herself head long into danger, ahead all of them.

“I’m the one with the gun,” she replied, casting him a brief glance of affection to tell him that she would be all right. “Everyone stay back, just in case.”

“Let me,” Elladan stepped forward, “I can move with far swifter ability.”

“You can’t outrun a bullet,” she said dismissively and gestured for him to join the others before he could offer further argument. The elf withdrew but reluctantly and Miranda knew that it offended his sense of chivalry that she was taking the lead.  Unfortunately, she had little patience with chauvinism, no matter how well intentioned and placed her hand on the doorknob to enter the staircase and ensure that the way was clear for the rest of them.

Turning it slowly, she scolded herself inwardly because it would make no difference whether or not she made a sound if there was someone there. Peering through the widening crack of door as she pushed it, Miranda had no more managed to peer into the staircase when suddenly she heard the very audible click of a gun hammer a fraction of a second before the weapon discharge.  The bullets exploded past her ear, forcing her to recoil back into the hallway. The projectiles impacted against the concrete wall, spraying her with stone fragment as well as splinters of wood where the bullets had made contact with the door.

“Come on!” Frank hurried to her, forgetting his safety as he assured himself of hers.

Grabbing her arm, he pulled her away from the door as the hail of bullets drove her further into the corridor.  The eruption of gunfire had given away their position to the security guards closing in on them from the other side and the voices that had been distant now became urgent with approach.  Frank was aware of their grim predicament as the group retreated further away from the doorway, effectively caught between the narrowing gap of Malcolm Industries’ security forces.

“Maybe we can trying going through the lift doors,” Eric suggested.  “I’m sure those shafts have maintenance ladders of some kind.”

“We’d never make it,” Frank shouted in turn as they ran down the corridor without any clear understanding of what was to be done.

  
Miranda’s mind was whirling, trying to find an avenue of escape but finding all their options effectively curtailed with the advent of both fire stairs being cordoned off by the security guards.  The notion of capture created such a feeling of despair inside of her that she could hardly think. Capture would mean losing the only advantage they had, Frank’s ability to move about freely.  They had so little room to maneuver as it was. If the Nazgul were to capture Frank and hold them hostage in the same manner that Sam and Pip were now being held, her husband would have no choice but to capitulate to the Nazgul’s demands.

 No!

She thought frantically, she was not afraid to die but if Frank was right about these Valar and she did not doubt that he was, then they would all be sacrificed to prevent the lord of Mordor from returning to the modern world.  She could endure her own death but her children’s demise was something she could not begin to fathom in any shape or form.  There had to be a way out of here! There simply had to be! She searched her brain for any way to deliver them from their present predicament when suddenly a memory surfaced in her mind that was almost a fleeting thought.

“This way!” She shouted turning into a corridor that lead away from both the fire stairs and emptied towards one of the abandoned offices.

“Why?” Elladan questioned even though the others were already following the golden haired woman as she darted through one of the doorways they had passed earlier. “There are only rooms there.” 

Miranda did not answer, trying to remember exactly where she had seen it. She knew that it was one of these offices but during their exploration of the level, she had only made note of it in passing because she had not thought it significant at the time.

The office she finally entered looked no different than the others except that this one was a corner office and would have been quite the status symbol for the person occupying it. While nowhere as grandiose as the branch director’s office, this one had a spectacular view of the city as well.  Miranda hurried to the glass wall and looked through it meaningfully, her gaze sweeping across their only way of escaping this building.

“You’re fucking joking,” Jason blurted out first.

“It’s the only way,” Miranda ignored him and raised her rifle to fire. “Everyone look away!”

“Oh hell!” The young Kiwi turned around as she pulled the trigger.

Gunfire exploded in her ears as the bullets strafed the glass surface and shattered it spectacularly. Sharp fragments flew in all directions as larger pieces of glass exploded outwards and began its long descent to the ground.  The open ruptures in the glass wall immediately forced the powerful winds to sweep through the room.  Wind increased in speed the higher the altitude and at the heights they were presently occupying, the wind shear was considerable indeed. Miranda turned away as the room became a mild vortex of glass. Her hair whipped against her face as she lowered her weapon and stepped forward.

“Come on!” She called out as she approached the edge of the damaged wall and began to smash a larger opening with the butt of her rifle.

The window cleaner’s scaffold was covered in glass and swayed slightly beneath the ministrations of the wind. Held in place by thick cables and pulleys, it did not at all look like an adequate manner of escape but unfortunately, it was all they had. 

“Jesus is that even going to hold our weight?” Frank asked as he saw his wife stepping through the opening.

Miranda swallowed and reminded herself not to look down as she stepped onto the aluminum platform.  It was not as stable as she would have liked and she was certain it was not made to accommodate the weight of six people but at this moment they had no choice. If they did not escape the building this way, then they would be led out of it as prisoners. Miranda preferred to take her chances with the platform. Grabbing onto the railings, she stepped onto metal floor before turning to Frank.

“It’s the only way love,” she said extending her hand to his.

 “I trust you,” Frank answered her without hesitation before taking her outstretched hand and making the journey from the safety of the building floor to the possible peril of the window cleaner’s scaffold.  Like her, he did not look down as he made the crossing, aware that he would only become queasy by doing so.

“Is this safe?” Elladan asked with unhidden anxiety but since he could hear better than anyone the voices of the security guard closing in on them, supposed that safety was a relative issue and stepped onto the platform with as much bravery as could be mustered at a time like this.  The elf grabbed the handrail immediately and moved further along the scaffold so that the others could join in. 

“Does it matter?” Elrohir retorted following him, deciding that he would never again take the ground for granted. While these structures may appear splendid indeed, Elrohir came to the conclusion that he would prefer to view them from afar and most preferably from the ground.

Eric followed him and though the scaffold seemed to groan in protest at the weight, maintained its sturdiness despite swaying precariously in the wind and driving them to their wits end. Predictably, Jason was the last one to step onto the platform and as the voices of their pursuers grew loud enough to make them flinch, the younger man hesitated as he summed the courage to make join his companions.

“Come on Jason!” Eric insisted.

“Oh Jesus,” Jason exclaimed, sweat breaking out over his skin. “What is it with you people and bloody heights?”

“Will you just get on!” Eric snapped. “This isn’t the time to wrestle with acrophobia!”

“Wrestle!” Jason shouted back, “I’m on the bloody mat and the referee’s counting to ten!”

“JASON!” Eric shouted in exasperation.

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” The younger man said clearly fearful but forcing himself to move as he put a foot on the platform.   No sooner than he had made the effort, both Eric and Elladan leaned over and dragged him the rest of the way.

“Oh shit!” Jason swore again as he opened his eyes as they pulled him across and found himself looking at the miniature street below.

“Don’t look down!” Frank instructed.

“Its too late!” Jason hissed and clamped his eyes shut, promising himself that it would remain that way until they were on the ground again.

“Miranda!” Frank turned to his wife as they saw the security guards appearing at the door of the room. “Get this bloody thing moving!”

Miranda found the large control box attached to the electronics of the scaffold with a thick and flexible rubber conduit. Pushing one of the two buttons on the panel, the scaffold jerked into movement as the pulleys began the work and with an uneasy start, the entire platform began to lower somewhat steadily. She released the box and looked up to the open window, waiting for the eminent arrival of the security guards who would deduce quickly enough where they had gone.

"We made it," Eric exclaimed, "we actually made it."

"We haven't made anything until we're on the ground!" Jason declared hotly, with one arm wrapped around a railing with the other covering his eyes, quite an impressive feat since he had the only other gun among them.

"Stand back," Miranda ordered as she saw the first appearance of the guards at the broken window. Not given them the chance to discern where she and her companions had gone or how they had made their escape, she raise the assault rifle in her hands and released a hail of bullets along the glass walls of the building.  The noise was more than enough to drive them back into the building's innards for safety and more glass window shattered under the ministrations of the projectiles. The scaffolding managed to maintain its steady descent despite this barrage but it did not improve the wits of anyone who was force to travel on the platform.

"Miranda!" Frank immediately reached for the gun and pushed it down to stop her from firing further. Below them, the debris of glass and the sound of gunfire had caused minor chaos as eyes were immediately drawn to them from the onlookers below. Other people were fleeing in fear the glass shards raining down on them and those who were not, were pointing at them and calling for help. 

"Frank!" Miranda turned to him in protest, "I've got to stop them from following us!"

"They want me alive!" He insisted, "I seriously doubt they're going to open fire while I'm suspended twenty floors up. Take it easy!"

"Fine," Miranda lowered her weapon, conceding defeat in this one point because it seemed as she was bringing too much attention to them. It was more than likely that the security guards were already making their way down the building in an effort to intercept them below, they did not need the added complication of the authorities' involvement as well.

"Were you able to learn anything?" Elladan asked Eric in an effort to dispel the tension between husband and wife.  With the scaffolding making its way to the ground, there was little else to do and under such circumstances, tempers could become frayed very quickly.

Catching the elf's meaning, Eric answered quickly, "yeah, we found out that some woman called Irina Sadko has been issuing a lot of company memos from the Paris office.  If I didn't know better, I would say she was in charge."

The mention of a woman sparked a memory within Elrohir who had spent a good deal of time with Bryan Miller since the human had come to Valinor.  He searched his thoughts for the relevant information, focusing after a moment on the events relating to David Saeran's defeat in his stronghold in Mordor or the modern world's equivalent of the place, Romania.

"There was a woman present when they captured Sauron," Elrohir declared looking up at them both. "She was believed to have been Sauron's lover however, Bryan was certain that she was killed when his domain was destroyed."

"Believed but not certain?" Eric stared at the elf in return.

"There was no time to be sure of it as a fact," Elrohir explained, "she had almost killed your brother. If it were not for Aaron, it would have been likely that Bryan would have died in Mordor…I mean Romania."

Frank did not answer because the ground was approaching fast to greet them. He swept his gaze towards the main entrance of the building and saw the security guards had yet to make their appearance. Frank did not anticipate that this state of affairs would remain indefinitely and moved towards the small gate through the railing of the scaffold. The concrete was only a few feet below him and Frank too the initiative to jump the rest of the way.

It was just as well because no sooner than they were back on terra firma did the guards in question emerge and in greater numbers.  Wasting no time in a further confrontation or engaging in a gunfight in the middle of a busy street in broad daylight, the collection of humans and elves ran towards the car Miranda had stolen earlier in order to make their getaway.  For most part, Frank was right about the guard's desire to take him alive because they too were being restrained in their use of firearms. Miranda reached the vehicle first, jumping into the driver's seat and bringing the engines promptly to life as those with hers followed suit, piling into the car hastily as the security guards closed in on them. 

"Go! Go! Go!" Frank shouted as he saw them reach the sidewalk where the station wagon was parked. In a matter of seconds, the vehicle would be surrounded and unable to move unless Miranda was willing to plow through the enemy in full view of everyone. 

Fortunately, the dilemma never reared its head as the vehicle pulled out of its parked space just as the guards were within reach of it.  Still reluctant to open fire in the middle of the day, the employees of Malcolm Industries could do little but watch helplessly as their quarry sped away in a stolen car. 

They were some distance away before anyone deigned to speak. Everyone was becoming accustomed to the fact that they had survived yet another harrowing incident and wondered how many more lay before them before this nightmare was ready to draw to a close. Frank thought about everything that had happened as they drove through the street with no particular destination in mind. Miranda seemed to be concentrating on putting as much distance between them and the Malcolm Building as her eyes remained fixed on the road ahead. 

"This woman Irina," Frank finally broke the silence, "you said that she was Saeran's lover?" 

"Yes," Elladan nodded, "at least that is how Bryan described it. She try to kill him after Sauron was defeated." 

"Alright then," Frank nodded processing the information in his head. "It makes a good deal of sense then." 

"Yeah," Eric nodded in agreement. "She's the one whose been clearing the way for the Nazgul. I wouldn't be surprised if she's the one who's been tracking us. When Petra Tebben sent word to Malcolm Industries about what her archaeology team found, this Sadko woman must have realized what the artifact was and decided it was the only way to get David Saeran back. With you making the offer, she probably thinks the Valar will have no choice but to agree."

 "That's how the Nazgul were able to find out about Sam and Pip so quickly," Frank continued, "no doubt the instant they found out I was at the university, she accessed the university faculty list to find out my personal details." 

"So you're telling me this woman Irina Sadko," Miranda spoke up finally, "has been in charge of Malcolm Industries since Saeran was taken to Valinor?" 

"It fits," Eric retorted. "All the paperwork we saw made no mention of her title but says it was signed with authorization from David Saeran. She's been running things while the rest of the world thinks that Saeran is somewhere in Germany convalescing." 

"Okay, we know who she is," Jason said grateful that they had something concrete to work with after long last. "The question is what do we do about it?" 

"Where is this woman?" Elladan asked. 

"The files we saw indicates she's based out of Paris," Eric answered, "but I doubt that she'd keep two kidnapped children there but it's a place to start." 

"I find it difficult to believe that the Nazgul would ally themselves with any human," Elrohir retorted somewhat astonished by this possibility. The Nazgul had little patience for any living thing that was not their master but supposed that a great deal had changed in a hundred thousand years, perhaps need had given them little choice but to cooperate with Sauron's lover.

 

"Well like you said," Frank met his gaze, "they are not as strong as they used to be. Without Saeran, they're vulnerable and moving through the modern world is difficult without help.  Politics make strange bedfellows I'm afraid. Still I'm not sure if Paris is where we should be headed." 

"What do you mean?" Jason asked, "where else could they go?" 

"The Nazgul would want to keep a close eye on Sam and Pip," Miranda said sourly. "For the moment, he needs them and I doubt he'd risk losing them when it's the only way to get their Master back. However, once their usefulness ends, I know the bastard will kill them." 

Frank bristled at the thought of his boys coming to harm because of a Nazgul's vengeance but crushed the fear ruthlessly because he needed to think. "You say their Romanian base was destroyed?" 

"Thoroughly from what I understand," Elrohir replied, recalling Bryan's accounting of events. 

"They couldn't take the boys out of Europe," Miranda spoke starting to see where Frank was headed with his ruminations. "They'll need passports to get through customs. The Nazgul wouldn't take the risk." 

"What about the Paris branch?" Jason suggested. 

"As the corporate center, that's tactically unwise," Frank answered, "they need to be hidden somewhere remote, somewhere Sam and Pip won't find help if they try to escape and knowing our kids, they'll try." 

"Wait a minute," Jason exclaimed as the realization dawned upon him, "what about this place that Saeran is supposed to be recuperating at?" 

"The one in Germany," Eric stated. 

"What about there?" Jason looked at the others in question. "I mean the trip by road isn't long. They could make it to Germany in less than a day and they don't need to pass through customs." 

"Germany is a big place," Miranda said tautly but the seeds of hope were definitely glittering in her eyes, Frank noticed. "We need to know exactly where." 

"I think I can find out," Eric returned with a smile and turned to Jason, "who's the best researcher we know?" 

Jason caught his meaning and let out a visible groan, "not her." 

"Who?" Frank stared at the younger man puzzled. 

"We got sent to Iceland the last time," Jason glared at Eric, "you call her again and we're going to get fired!" 

"Who is he talking about?" Elladan asked similarly baffled. 

"My boss's wife," Eric answered. "Dominique."


	12. Destinations

 

Sam was afraid.

It was a perfectly understandable emotion to be experiencing when one considered the ordeal he had endured since the Black Riders had spirited him and his brother Pip away from their anguished parents. Despite his valiant efforts to maintain his composure, Sam was only a child of seven and while he had shown amazing fortitude in the face of unspeakable evil, there was only so much courage he could muster before his bravery become a well run dry.  Ironically, what finally exhausted the limits of his endurance was not further proof of the terrible creatures that inhabited this world in secret but something that cut even deeper to the bone.

Pip had not spoken in hours.

Swathed in a blanket of dark within the dreadful place they were kept hidden, San crouched closer to his brother and placed a protective arm around his brother who had not said a word since they had been trapped in the dark cell with bars. In some sense, Sam would have preferred it if they were able to see nothing. In darkness there was the comfort of unknowing but there was some light slipping through their cage like an silent invader and it allowed them to see what was beyond.  What they had seen frightened Sam beyond his ability to describe it and like his younger brother, he wished and prayed even harder than mum and dad would find them soon. 

For Pip, it was simply too much.

Little more than five years old, what he had seen engendered a scream that Sam had never heard his brother utter before and after that, Pip had fallen silent, saying nothing else.  That was many hours ago and as Sam tried to avoid looking into the light, tried to ignore the sound of feet moving in the darkness, so much like the skin crawling noise made by cockroaches on their midnight forage, he knew that Pip’s mind had taken him to a place where none of this could hurt him.  That more than anything else that had happened since this all began frightened Sam the most.  He had tried coaxing words out of Pip but all his brother would do was sit there on the rocky ground, his knees pulled under his chin as he closed his eyes, clenched into a ball.

“Don’t worry Pip,” Sam said quietly, not knowing what else to say because he had tried everything to get a response out of his brother without success. “Mum and dad will find us here, I know they will.  We won’t be here for long.”

As he said that, he swept his gaze over the dark cavern, illuminated by a torch for their benefit.  He could see the uneven shape of the ceiling as the stalactites hanging down. They looked like jagged teeth as they loomed overhead and made Sam think they were inside the mouth of some enormous monster.  He forced the idea out of his mind because it had sent a fresh surge of anxiety through him and it was not as if he needed to be any more frightened than he was. Blinking, he looked past the bars, even though he knew he shouldn’t. He could see them moving in the distance, scurrying up the walls like insects or moving across the ground, their hunched and misshapen bodies pausing to peer inside the small cavern where the two children were deposited, as if he and Pip were attractions at a zoo.

Worse yet, the main meal on the dinner table.

The Black Riders had left them here in the hands of their new captors and seeing them for the first time had torn the scream from Pip that had plunged his brother into his dark abyss.   Even now, they stood at the mouth of the cavern, casting their eyes upon the two children at regular intervals.  They were almost as big as the Black riders and were clad in the dark clothes that did not fit them well.  Their hair was long and matted and their mouth revealed teeth that were like that of animals. Their faces were misshapen and grotesque and their words were hard and guttural. Seeing them had frightened his brother but when the others came, it was more than Pip could bear.

The others were smaller in stature but still no less vicious, their eyes were not human eyes and shifted from being fish to reptilian like. The ones the Black Riders called Uruks ensured that none of these smaller denizens approach the children for all their looks of longing and during their confinement, Sam knew that they were of great interest to these creatures who looked as if they had been residing in this darkness for a terribly long time.  They hunched and they crawled and as Pip and Sam were being brought to this place, moving over the rock as if they knew it intimately, needing not even light to recognize its features, feasting with loud, slurping noises and crunching sounds that made him shudder still.

Feasting on each other.

It was this that finally drove Pip over the edge and in the near frenzied screaming that followed as he was carried to this cavern, mindless with fear, his voice filling every corner of the dark hell with its noise.  The Uruk creature had to physically carry Pip into the cavern, kicking and screaming.  His struggles were so fierce that even Sam was forced to beg him to desist, certain that the creatures would think them too much trouble and do away with them for expediency. Fortunately, the Uruk found a struggling child easy to manage and slipped Pip and Sam promptly into their cells with little difficulty.

“Please Pip,” Sam tried desperately to reach his brother once more. “Say something.”

Pip did not speak and seemed be rocking back and forth wordlessly.  Sam knew that only their parents could bring Pip back to them but that possibility seemed terribly remote at the moment. Sam wished he would talk because comforting his brother was the only thing that kept his own terror away.  With Pip locked in this state of catatonia, Sam was forced to face his limitations and just how truly helpless he was in, for all his efforts at remaining strong.  He had thought escape was the only way to reach their parents but Sam had come to the terrible conclusion that what lay in wait beyond their cell may not be worth the risk of their freedom.

The Uruk seemed to bark at the smaller creatures that seemed to be stealing glimpses of them and it occurred to Sam that the huge entry was assigned not merely to guard them but to keep them safe.  Sam studied his surroundings once more, knowing that he would glean little information he had not already acquired in earlier such exercises.  The place still seemed familiar to him and he wondered why that was.  He wondered how this underground world, with its dank stench of death, dust and rotting meat could spark a memory inside of him.  However, every fiber of his being told him that it was a true memory, just like the Black Riders had been a true memory.

                                               

If that was the case, was the _other_ real too?

His memories of the other were nothing tangible, just the sensation that he was supposed to be somewhere and he was not.  For most part, Sam did not feel the void inside himself that yearned for something he could not explain, that brought forth a feeling that there was supposed to be someone at his side or more correctly, he was supposed to be at their side and was not.  He had an idea that if he asked the Black Riders, they would know but he did not think that would answer him and maybe the other was why they looked at him with such hatred. Even though he could not see their eyes, he knew it to be true.

“We’ll get out of here Pip,” Sam spoke, noting the Uruk turning briefly to him at the sound of his voice, “mum and dad will come for us.  They’ll find us, even in this place,” Sam said giving their cell another sweeping look as he slipped his arm over Pip’s shoulders, “remember how we got lost once in that store and how mum came and found us? Remember what she had said when you were crying? Mums always know where their children are, even when they can’t see them. Mum knows where we are Pip, even if she can’t see us and dad? Dad can find anything. He found things that had been buried in the sand for ages and ages, he’s pretty smart, he’ll know how to get to us because we’re alive and we’ve only been lost a few days.”

The words had little impact on his brother but it made him feel a little better. 

For a while at least.

*************

 

“Is it wise returning here?” Elladan asked as the station wagon pulled into the driveway of the Miller household, abandoned since yesterday afternoon.

“There’s something I need,” Miranda replied. “I would have taken it yesterday but it’s a little heavy to carry around and we weren’t sure what we were going to do at the time. Now that we have a plan, I need to get it.”

“What is it?” Frank asked as they made their way into the house. Miranda had been closed mouth about it and gave Frank the impression that whatever she had come home for was something he would not like at all. 

The house had not changed since their abrupt departure the day before. The evidence of the energy wave’s effect on the city was revealed prolifically by the glass still strewn across the floor from the shattered televisions set and various other objects attached to electronics.  Miranda paused a moment to take in the sight of being home, wishing that the benign existence she and Frank had shared within this walls had not ended with their children becoming pawn of some mythological game of chess.  Her reminiscing took but a moment to dispel because they now had some idea of where the boys were being held and this interlude at home was only so that she could retrieve what she needed to reach them.

“We shouldn’t stay here long,” Eric mirrored Elladan’s words as he looked outside apprehensively. Considering what they had done since leaving Hans’ home this morning, he would not be at all surprised to learn that the law was hunting them as determinedly as the Nazgul.  “The powers not going to stay off forever and when it does, its open season on us.”

“I don’t plan to take that much time,” Miranda retorted, ignoring the protests from her companions. While she understood their need for caution, she also knew after the events of the past day just how dangerous their situation was.  They had been running from place to place, making up a plan as they went. The training that had kept her alive in the service was telling her that this could not go on indefinitely. Luck only got you so far and luck had a tendency to run out when you needed it most.  No, she decided ruefully, they were going to need to be better prepared than they were.

Striding across the floor, Miranda reached her piano and lifted the lid.  She saw Frank staring at her in puzzlement as she rummaged through the innards of the instrument until her fingers grasped what she wanted.  It was covered in dust and her fingertips did not like the contact however Miranda ignored the sensation as she lifted the small Chinese box, no larger than a humidor, out of the piano.

“What is that?” Frank asked in astonishment, having never seen it before.

“Insurance,” she said quietly as she put the box on the dining table and opened it.  Curiosity at what it might contain ensured that she had an audience who drew closer to her in order to take a glimpse of what was inside.

The first thing Frank caught sight of was the money.

Almost an inch thick, the wad of cash was in British currency and Frank’s eyes widened when he saw that they were all one hundred pound notes. He thought of the holiday they had taken a couple of years ago to America where he had scrimped and saved every penny in order to finance and felt a little cheated at knowing that the money was here all the time, secreted in this box he did not even know existed.  However, if he thought he was surprised, then it was nothing in comparison to the other documentation she produced from inside this hidden receptacle.

“What is this?” Frank demanded, picking up the small book and thumbing through it.

“Passports,” Miranda answered, aware that the tension in his voice indicated he was angry.

“Passports?” Eric stared at her, mirroring the question that Frank had yet to ask.

“Yes,” Miranda nodded, coming to the realization in the last few seconds as she saw her secrets laid bare that Frank deserved an explanation. It was not just anger she saw in his eyes, it was hurt.  She could endure almost anything save the loss of her children but she had underestimated how cutting it could be to see Frank hurt because of something she _did_.

“These passports don’t have our names on them,” Frank looked at her with accusation. “There’s one for all of us, you, me and the boys but the names are completely different. Why?”

“Because its insurance,” she swallowed thickly and noted the others in the room retreating slightly because this was an issue between husband and wife.  “In case we ever needed to leave in a hurry. It was unlikely that we would ever need them but old habits are hard to break.  It was a safety precaution for all of us if things went badly and in the business, it sometimes happened. For queen and country you sometimes had to wear things that weren’t your fault but you didn’t have to pay for it either. That’s what those were for.”

“What business?” Frank demanded, finally voicing the question he had waited ten years to ask. 

“MI6,” Miranda said after a moment.

“MI6!” Eric exclaimed even though he meant to remain silent and let Frank and Miranda talk this out. “You were with MI6?”

“What is that?” Elladan looked at Jason in puzzlement.

“That’s secret agent stuff,” Eric retorted. “So you were a Firm operative?”  He had done an article on the intelligence community some years ago and though he was certain that his story covered only the barest fraction of the truth about these organizations, he knew enough to appreciate why Miranda could do the things she do.

“Deep cover,” Miranda nodded slowly, “covert surveillance to be precise. I was in Belfast when I met your brother,” she looked at Frank. “He and I were on a mission together and we got each other through it. I’m still bound by the Official Secrets Act Frank, I can really talk about what I did.”

“I’m not asking about your bloody missions!” Frank snapped harshly. “Why couldn’t you told me about this?” He stared at the box and its contents, “or about the fact that you kept a gun in our house where we have two young children!”

“That’s not fair,” Miranda returned just as vehemently, but she knew he was right. She had kept the bullets in the same place as the gun. If either Sam or Pip had ever found it, the consequences could have been tragic.  “I didn’t think it was necessary for you to know.”

“Miranda,” Frank started to speak before he forced himself to take a moment to calm down first.  After a second or two, he met her eyes again, in a decidedly more reasonable frame of mind, “I love you. I know that you have a past and sometimes, it’s hard for you to talk about it. I never questioned that and I’m still not angry that you kept what you did from me a secret but the possibility that we may one day have to pick and run like criminals is something I do deserve to know!”

“You never asked question of Bryan,” Miranda stammered, feeling shamed because he was right.  Something like that should not have been kept to herself.

“I’M NOT BLOODY MARRIED TO BRYAN!” Frank almost roared. “He didn’t have two boys to worry about! Damn it Miranda, you should have told me.”

“Hey come on,” Eric started to intercede, seeing the genuine pain in her eyes at Frank’s harsh rebuttal. “I’m sure she did not mean it…”

“Stay out of this,” Frank said sharply and Eric was about to respond when Elladan’s hand dropped on his shoulder and indicated that he ought to remain silent.

“I’m sorry Frank,” Miranda met his gaze after looking at Eric with a surge of affection at his efforts to come to her aide, as any older brother would do, she thought unconsciously. “You’re right,” she admitted softly. “I should have told you.  I guess I was a little afraid of what you would say and I didn’t want to worry you.  I wanted to forget who I had been and telling you, even this small part of it, would have reminded me of things I don’t wish to remember any more. It was never my intention for there to be secrets between us.”

Frank softened, unable to stay mad at Miranda for very long but he wanted her to know that this would be the last time they had a conversation like this again. “I don’t expect you to tell me everything luv,” he said gently, “there are things in your past we don’t’ ever have to talk about but you have to trust me. I love you and nothing you could say to me would ever change that. However, when it comes to our family, I don’t ever want there to be any secrets between us. Is that understood?”

When he wanted it, his glare could be merciless and even Miranda could not help but flinch under that intense gaze.

“Understood,” Miranda conceded gracefully, unable to deny that she deserved his rebuke.

“Listen,” Eric tried again, aware that he should not be interfering but they had far greater things to concern themselves with at the moment. “Your kids need you,” he reminded them. “I think this can wait until after you’ve got them back.”

Frank dropped his gaze to his feet, agreeing silently that Eric was right and he knew that it was only his pride that had been injured.  As much as it hurt, it changed nothing. He still loved his wife dearly and would continue to do so no matter how much she had kept from him. He would not deny Miranda her secrets but he would have her know that there were some things he had a right to know.  The content of the box and its reason for being was one of those these instances.

“Is that all you needed from here?” Frank asked gently as he raised his eyes to Miranda.

“Yes,” she nodded, her sadness at hurting him still apparent but Frank offered her a little smile, hoping that would convey to her that things were all right between them despite.  The moment was brief but it was enough and brought a corresponding smile to Miranda’s face.

“We should leave,” Elrohir advised. “If you were correct about other parties becoming interested in the Silmarils, we should not be here when they arrive.”

“That’s for sure,” Jason voiced his agreement.

“Well I need to make that phone call,” Eric reminded. “We need to get out of the city to someplace that was not affected by the wave.”

“Then we head south,” Miranda replied, “towards Roskilde.”

“Roskilde, Denmark?” Frank stared. “What’s there?”

Miranda met his gaze enigmatically,  “an old friend.”

********

Despite Frank’s curiosity, Miranda was reluctant to say more although he sensed the reason for her silence had little to do with the fact that both Eric and Jason were reporters and the person they were going to see in Roskilde may not appreciate their presence.  In the instance Malcolm Industries was inclined to send the law after them, a perfectly feasible possibility considering they had broken into the company’s branch and exchanged gunfire with the security in place, they departed Oslo shortly after Miranda had acquired what she needed from the house.

They drove out of Oslo towards the border, pausing at Askim long enough to discard the vehicle they had stolen.  The effect of the wave had dissipated long before it reached Askim thus the community was left unscathed.   They were able to buy a used van to accommodate all of them before they made the journey across the border.  Although Eric needed to get in contact with Dominique in order to garner the information they needed regarding the location of David Saeran’s German estate, he understood the need to put as much distance between themselves and Oslo.   Despite Dominique’s feelings towards him, Eric could not say for certain whether or not he trusted the lady.  Unfortunately, their situation gave him little choice but to trust the woman. However, before he made the call that could conceivably give them all away, he wanted to be as far away from where the enemy thought they would be.

The crossing into Sweden was largely uneventful although their first encounter with normal television programming revealed that the effect of the Silmaril upon Oslo had become something of a media event.  Speculation was running rife regarding the cause of the citywide blackout with none of the so-called experts being able to provide answers that they could agree with conclusively. Theories ranged from a theorist attack, to solar flares and even more outlandish possibilities that a nuclear weapon had been detonated in the upper atmosphere, resulting in the release of EMP. 

Despite the furore of speculation that was taking place through the media, Eric was certain that behind the scenes, the people who really mattered were not so disorganized in their investigation.  It made him grateful that they had left the Miller house because anyone seeking to discern the secrets of the wave would eventually be drawn to its epicenter.  Fortunately, Eric was able to say with some measure of confidence that no amount of speculation could possibly lead to anyone realizing that the powerful energy surge had been caused by a jewel no larger than his palm. The impossibility of it was the only thing that allowed them to remain safe.

They arrived in the town of Avrika, located in the heart of Varmland, just across the border into Sweden. The region was known for its natural landscapes that included numerous national parks. As they drove into the community, they found Avrika to be a mixture of urban life and natural rustic splendor.  Deciding that it was probably best that they did not acquire lodgings that was too close to town, a quick trip to the local tourist office soon had then driving towards Glava Gästgård, a pleasant country hotel some 30 kilometers south west of Avrika proper.  Frequented mostly by backpackers, Miranda was confident that this place would provide them the temporary refuge they needed for Eric to make his call to Dominique.

  
Aside from Jason’s obvious reasons against contacting the woman, Eric had his own reservations as he stared at the telephone in his room, debating whether or not he ought to proceed.  If anyone could find the location of David Saeran’s estate in Germany, it would undoubtedly be Dominique. Despite the fact that she was the boss’s wife, the lady was respected for her skills as a researcher before her marriage had elevated her status in the hierarchy of the news division he was presently employed.  However, Malcolm Industries connection with the network was not unknown. What if contacting Dominique meant giving away their position to the enemy? The only advantage right they possessed at this moment was the fact that the enemy did not know their whereabouts and could not manipulate Frank any further than they already had. Would Dominique compromise them all if he were to contact her?

The question swirled around his thought futilely until he decided the need for the information outweighed the risks to them and picked up the phone.  Australia was eight hours ahead in time and the call would reach her in the small hours of the morning. Dialing the number of her mobile cell phone, he waited patiently as the tones indicated quietly that his call was being connected proceeding the ringing tone.  Eric held his breath, grateful that the others had gone to grab some dinner at the hotel’s restaurant, because he would prefer to conduct this conversation alone.  Jason had been unhappy enough as it was they were exploiting this avenue of information without being present when Eric made the call.

“Who the hell is this?” he heard Dominique’s muffled voice through the phone and snapped him back to the moment. Typically, she was rather annoyed at being woken at this hour but Eric supposed it was justifiable since it was something like four am in Sydney at the moment.

“Do, its Eric,” he said quietly, holding his breath at her reaction.

“Eric?” She exclaimed, suddenly wide-awake.

“Yeah, it me,” he repeated himself. “Can you talk?”

“Yeah we can talk,” she said hastily, “Rob and I agreed it was time we spent some time alone after our little episode at the party.”

Eric felt silent a moment, uncertain how to take that. He did not think Dominique would actually leave her husband and the possible implications of that made him feel especially grateful that he was a continent away. 

“I’m sorry,” he remarked not knowing what else to say.

“I’m not,” she said crisply, indicating clearly that she had no wish to discuss the matter further. That was Dominique’s way, short and to the point. It was one of the things Eric liked about her.  Most women seemed to be mired in so much insecurity. It was refreshing to meet one who could hardly care less about such things.

“Where have you been Eric?” She demanded. “We heard the archaeology team was killed and thought you and Jason might be dead too. If it wasn’t for your charges to the company account in Oslo, we would still believe it!”

  
“I’m involved in something pretty dangerous Do,” Eric started to explain, trying to diffuse the anger he could hear in her voice though it was perfectly justifiable, they should have let someone know that they were okay.  “The archaeology team wasn’t killed in any freak accident, they were murdered.”

“Murdered?” She gasped. “How?”

“I can’t explain,” he retorted certain that she would not believe him even if he were foolish enough to risk her life with the truth. “I can only tell you that Malcolm Industries are at the bottom of it all.  Jason and I are on the run and we need to stay on the run until we figure things out. We need your help Do, can I count on you.”

“Of course,” she replied without hesitation, “but Eric what kind of trouble are you in? Why would Malcolm Industries want to kill the team?”

“Do, I can’t tell you!” Eric insisted. “The information could you get you killed! Its already cost one man his life and may be two children as well.  It’s safer for both of us that you don’t know.  Please, I need your help but I can give you any more than I have already.”

Dominique fell silent as if she had stopped herself in mid protest and was absorbing his words.  “What do you need from me?” She asked after a long pause.

Eric released a breath in relief, glad that she was willing to help because while he was capable of finding out the information they needed, himself, Dominique had access to resources that could make the search fast.  With Sam and Pip’s life hanging in the balance, time was of the essence.

“I need to know if David Saeran had any kind of holdings in Germany, in particular a residence.  The company’s PR people have accounted for his absence during last six months as the result of the Romanian fire. They’re claming that he’s recuperating at his German estate. I need to know exactly where that is.”

“Why?” Dominique asked even more perplexed by the request.  What did David Saeran have to do with all this?

“Do,” Eric frowned, wishing she did not have the same journalistic curiosity as he because it could make things damned inconvenient at times. “I can’t explain,” he repeated himself, “I just need to know. It’s important.”

  
“Alright,” she conceded unhappily, “if he’s in Germany, I’ll find out where.  However, I need time. Its four o’clock in the morning here, I’ll need to get into the office to find what you want. How can I contact you?”

“I’ll contact you,” Eric replied, not about to give her that much information even if he did trust her. Whether or not she intended to, Dominique might give them away.  “I’ll call again at eight o’clock your time.”

By then they should be well away from here and heading towards Roskilde where Miranda had made contact with an old associate of hers, a gentleman named Voight, who was waiting their arrival.

“I’ll be waiting,” she answered with a nod, “Eric, be careful. I know you’re a hopeless bastard when it comes to women but you’ve grown on me.”

“You’re only saying that because you’ve heard the sex with me is so good,” he said with a wry smile.

“Not according to Janice in Accounts,” she replied sweetly, drawing a broader grin across his face. “However, I’m willing to risk it.”

“What about Rob?” He teased.

“Rob?”

“Your husband, my boss,” he reminded.

“We’ll be unemployed together,” she sniggered.

“Right,” he laughed and then sobered, “I’ll call you. Take care of yourself.”

“Likewise,” she answered before Eric finally hung up.

***********

They remained at Arvika briefly, staying long enough to get a good night’s rest.

Eric could tell the strain was starting to show on Frank and Miranda who saw every night away from their children as a prolonged torture they could not escape.  Frank was struggling with his decision to let Malcolm Industries wait for him to contact them. Both he and the enemy were trapped in the same cage of need, their need for their master and his need for his children. As long as each held something the other wanted, they could remain trapped in this stalemate to infinitum. However, while the Silmaril was ageless and could afford to wait, the same could not be said of Sam and Pip.

They set out early the next morning to make the drive across Sweden to Denmark.  Travelling southward, they journeyed down the coast road over the next three hundred kilometers to Helsingborg. At the coastal city, they were able to make the crossing from Sweden to Danish post of Helsingor before continuing onwards to Roskilde.  As per Miranda’s instructions, they resumed their journey along the Danish coast, bypassing Copenhagen completely before arriving at the ancient Danish capital of Roskilde.

Roskilde was an old city, having been established in one fashion or another since prehistoric times. Elladan and Elrohir sensed its age as they arrived in its principality, an insight Frank did not find difficult to believe since Roskilde had existed before the Vikings had made it their favorite route to open sea.  These days, it was the central hub of the rural communities surrounding it and appeared to be the ideal place for an ex company man to set up a business.  However, what that business was Miranda was not eager to divulge until they actually arrived.

They reached the farmhouse on the outskirts of Roskilde in mid afternoon.  Miranda’s ‘old friend’ had appeared to prefer a rustic life style and the farmhouse with its large barn seemed straight out of a picture book. It was a pretty place, surrounded by vibrantly verdant paddocks of green and the hint of salt in the cold air, indicating the ever looming presence of the sea not too far away. Miranda had called ahead, citing that Max was not someone she could simply drop in on at a moment’s notice. With a man like this, it was wise to simply appear on his doorstep.

Frank was uncertain of what he was expecting when the door swung open after Miranda had knocked. This cloak and dagger world she seemed so comfortable in left him truly overwhelmed at times and he had no idea what a crusty, retired secret agent was supposed to look like.  He had visions of an old Sean Connery but was rewarded instead by a rather stout old man with a thick gray hair and neatly groomed beard in a cable knit jumper.  Miranda stood taller than him as he looked at her with sharp blue eyes that saw a lot, Frank estimated despite the thick-framed glasses on his face.

“Well you’re a sigh for sore eyes fraulein,” he grinned and embraced Miranda warmly.

“You don’t have to lay the thick German accent on me Max,” she gave him a look. “I happen to know that you were born in Glasgow.”

“Blame it on my great grandfather,” he winked as he answered in perfect English accent that was very different from his speech a moment ago.  “Hello lass, how have you been?” He said, clearly warmth in his voice.

“Good,” Miranda smiled, truly pleased to see Max after all this time. They had served together and she was one of the few people in the Firm she had kept track of despite the years. “Max, can we come in, we need to talk. ” She said seriously, her voice possessing an edge that told him that all was far from well in that one question.

He paused but briefly and nodded before beckoning them all into the house.

“I thought you were retired,” Max said as he lead them through the hallway and into his spacious but equally cozy home. Heat radiated from the open fireplace and inviting arms chairs were draped with warm blankets.  It was the home of an old man, content to sit out his last years surrounded by books and the small comforts of life. 

“I am,” Miranda explained, “I took some time off after my last mission and didn’t go back.” She answered as they emptied into the living room and spread out accordingly.

“You mean Belfast,” Max straightened up and met her gaze.

“Yes,” Miranda stiffened uncomfortably, not wishing to discuss that subject with anyone, even Max. “After Belfast. I got married. This is my husband, Frank.”

“I know,” Max nodded turning to Frank for the first time and extending a hand in greeting. “I’ve met your brother, Bryan.”

“You know Bryan?” Frank exclaimed with surprise.

“Oh yes,” Max said before barking at the housekeeper whose activities they could hear in the kitchen, to bring some tea. “Walther PPK, 9 millimeter 15 rounds magazine. I tried to convince him to go the P99 but the boy was so stubborn.  Traditional.,” Max frowned.

“Max was our weapon’s man,” Miranda offered.

Miranda introduced the others and ensured that she did not divulge that Eric and Jason were news people since the retired agent would be slightly apprehensive in their company.  Men like Max preferred to remain anonymous, particularly when they were no longer in the business.  In their lifetime, there were many people who could be counted as enemies and even though they had left the service behind them, some dangers remained constant even if the job was no longer a part of their lives.

Miranda explained as best as she could the situation with Malcolm Industries, omitting any reference to the Silmaril and anything to do with Middle earth. Instead she blamed Sam and Pip’s abduction on  Bryan’s enemies trying to blackmail them into divulging his present whereabouts.

“What about the local authorities?” Max asked.

“You know as well as I do, they’ll be dead before I can reach them,” Miranda said firmly.

Frank watched his wife converse with this crusty old man, speaking in what was almost another language. The danger seemed so common place to both of them and he wondered just how much danger her life had been fraught with.  He wondered what had happened in Belfast that was so painful to Miranda that she would refuse to discuss it with such vehemence. He had seen how delicately Max had made the reference and still it was not to put Miranda on guard, even if it was obvious how much she trusted this man.

“They could be dead already,” Max pointed out.

“No,” Miranda shook her head and exchanging glances with Frank at that possibility. “I refuse to believe that. They’re alive and we’re going to get them out. As long as they think Frank and I will cooperate, they’ll keep the boys alive. 

“What about them?” Max looked at Elladan and Elrohir in particular.

“Their lives are in danger as much as ours,” Miranda answered. “I can tell you anymore Max because it will compromise you. You know the drill.”

Max nodded, “it’s been a few years but yes, I do know how the game is played. So what do you need from me?”

“We have a good idea where the boys are being held,” Miranda continued, grateful that Max did not press her any further.  “We intend to get them out ourselves but we suspect that the opposition will be heavy. We’re going to have to fight our way in and out of there.”

“You’re going to do an extraction?” Max’s eyes widened, “with him? The archaeologist?”

“Hey,” Frank started to protest. “I can look after myself.”

“Really?” Max looked at him skeptical and reached under the cushion of his armchair. He tossed something at Frank who barely had time to register what it was before catching it.

Frank stared at the gun somewhat taken back by the presence of it in his hand.

  
“Break it down,” Max ordered.

“Max...” Miranda started to say.

“Break it down Professor,” the old man insisted again.

“I can’t,” Frank stared at him bewildered. He had no idea what Max was even asking.

“You want to take this into an extraction?” Max stared at Miranda in astonishment.

“Give me that,” Jason said shortly, liberating the weapon from Frank and staring to disassemble it before their very eyes. Jason’s movements were swift and precise. He took the gun apart as if he knew exactly where every piece went each disassembled part was promptly placed on the table before them in a neat presentable manner. In less than sixty seconds, the gun had been broken down into several component’s.

“That’s breaking it down,” Jason said helpfully and glared at Max, “listen, it doesn’t matter who or what we are, we need help.  Their children need us to go get them and this man,” he said staring at Frank, “has kept us alive so far, so let’s not underestimate him just because he doesn’t know how to put a bullet in someone’s head.”

“I couldn’t have said it better myself,” Miranda said giving Jason a grateful look and Frank one of deep affection, “Max we need your help. They’re our kids, not a mission or an extraction, they are our children. We’ll do everything we can to get them out alive or die trying. That’s the kind of conviction that’s going to overcome whether or not some of us can shoot a gun. Right now, I need your help to even things up a little. Can I count on you?”

Max frowned, clearly unhappy at the situation but seeing the decision to proceed was never his to pass judgement upon.  All he could do was offer them what help he could.

“OF course you can,” he nodded after a moment. “What do you need from me.”

**************

From the outside, the barn looked like any other to be found in the area. Undoubtedly used for the storage of animals, hay and all the other associated used for such a structure in a rural setting. However, in the case of Maximilian Voight who could never remotely become accustomed to farming, the barn had an altogether different purpose. Stepping inside its confines, jaws dropped in collective astonishment as they saw what was arrayed before them in rack and shelves.  Eric had thought the weapon’s cache in Waco had been bad. It was nothing comparison to what was inside Max’s barn.  He stared in astonishment at the array of weapons in front of him.  It appeared Max had been nurturing a lucrative business in supplying arms since his ‘retirement’ and they were presently staring at his inventory.

“I thought Sweden had strict gun laws,” Eric remarked as he looked at the weapons with morbid fascination.

“They do,” Max replied, “but fortunately the clientele that I supply do not use their weapons in country. They’re people in our line of work,” he glanced at Miranda as if that explained everything.

  
“Is this really necessary?” Frank turned to his wife, uncomfortable about using any of the weapons he saw in the warehouse/barn.

“We’re not going the kids back any other way,” Miranda replied, giving him a look of sympathy because she could appreciate how difficult this was for him.  He was a gentle man who was, unaccustomed to violence. It was quality she loved about Frank even now when it would have been so much simpler if he was more like Bryan.

“Your lady is correct,” Elladan added, seeing the difficulty in his eyes.  “The Nazgul understanding little but force and we must respond in kind if we are to free your children. We do not know what evil awaits us at Sauron’s domain, we must be prepared.”

Max raised a brow at the odd speech but added nothing further because he sensed Miranda would not give him a straight answer about her companions even if he did waste the time to ask.  “So what you do need?” He inquired instead.

“For starters, I want six of the Walther P99s, a 1000 rounds each,” Miranda began reciting, prompting Max to immediately start scribbling in a note book as his pencil struggled to keep up with her request. Laser sights mounted on both of them so all Frank and Eric have to do is point and shoot at the little red light. I want the military grade model with the recoil compensator, not the standard version and I want them in black, I hate the greens,” she rattled off as she walked past a row of assault rifles and took a closer examination of them.

“These G36Ks look pretty impressive, are they new?” She glanced at Max, ignoring the fact that the men in the room with her were staring in mild amazement and open admiration. “They seemed to have upgraded from what I last remembered. These are the carbine version with standard dual scope mount and folded buttstock?”

“Madam has excellent taste,” Max joked. “Yes, they’re new. They went back to the drawing board in the mid 90’s and modified the design. They’re going to be replacing the M4 in the US army. These come with two sights, telescopic and red dot, which might do you well since you only have to follow the red light to hit your target.”

“Good,” Miranda nodded, picking up the weapon and examining it, “its light.” She commented. “Less than four kilograms. What’s this?” She asked, seeing a fixture on the weapon she did not recognize. “It looks like a mount for something.”

“Oh that’s one of the optional extras,” he smiled, “G36’s can be outfitted with a HK AG36 40 mm under barrel grenade launcher. You probably won’t need the bayonet function.”

“Grenade launcher,” Miranda mused thinking about the Nazgul and what it took to kill them or at the very least, slow them down.  “Alright, we’ll take six of these things gun with at least ten thousand rounds of ammunition.”

“Ten thousand!” Frank exclaimed, not certain to be shock or horrified, “you want ten thousand bullets?”

“The G36 can fire 750 rounds a minute, we’ll run out of them in no time. Better prepared then not,” Miranda said as a matter of factly when she saw something else that caught her interest. “You two,” she called out to Elladan and Elrohir, “these any good to you?”

The twins stepped forward and took a closer look at what she was asking them to see.

“Yes,” Elrohir remarked with a grin, “I think they might be.”

  
*************

 It disturbed Frank to no end that when they left Maximilian Voight's farmhouse, they did so armed with more guns than he had ever seen in his life. Max had graciously given them what they needed free of charge because of his previous friendship with Miranda and what he called professional courtesy. She owed him, he said and to the people who existed in this odd world, a favor sometimes carried more weight than money or power.

 While this might have been a way of life to his brother and his wife, for Frank, the notion of having to save their sons by use of such extreme force, bothered him considerably. He understood that the nature of the enemy they faced allowed for no other alternative but he was too much the scholar to ever be comfortable with employing violence for anything, no matter how warranted the circumstances. However, it appeared that violence was something Miranda understood clearly and knew how to dispense with considerable expertise on her own. It was astonishing to him how a woman who could nurture her family with some love and tenderness could discuss weapons the way one would discuss the different brands of laundry detergent at a supermarket.

Being invited into her shadowy world still made him uncomfortable but Frank was practical as he was intelligent. While she intimidate the hell out of him with this new side of her, he was also rather fascinated by the woman she had been and still was to some degree before their marriage. All in all, he was rather grateful that Miranda was on their side.

"Frank," she asked quietly as they sat in the back seat of the van, since it was now Jason's turn to drive. "Are you alright?"

"Yes," he met her gaze, seeing the underlying concern she was trying to hide under her rock hard exterior. "I'm fine luv, I'm just getting used to all this."

"I'm sorry," she swallowed thickly, her cheeks becoming a shade darker as the embarrassment of exposure washed over her at his seeing this side of her personality. "I thought I'd left all this behind me. I'm rather surprised how much of it is coming back to me.  I know its a little overwhelming but things will go back to normal when we get the boys back, I promise."

"Are you under some impression that I'm angry with you?" He stared at her the way one would address a mistaken child. "For better or worse remember?" He reached for her hand and kissed her palm gently. "This is a little overwhelming, I won't lie but all of it is you and I'll get used to it. Besides, I think its sort of sexy in a women with guns sort of way, like those prison movies with the evil guard," he gave her a salacious look that made her laugh.

"My husband," she sighed shaking her head, "he's mad but I think I'll keep him," Miranda met Frank's gaze and added. "I love you".

"I love you too," he returned before the sound of retching noises made him look over his shoulder to see Eric pretending to gag. "Oh grow you Aussie twit."

"You should talk you Pom," Eric snorted back and Elladan and Elrohir who had utterly no idea what any of this meant, decided that they would remain silent lest they be bombarded with these strange appellations that were undoubtedly insults of some kind. A hundred thousand years may have passed but it was clear the race of men were still very young.

“If you don’t stop that, I’m going to stop the car,” Jason added.

“Pretty big talk,” Eric added gleefully, “for a bloody Kiwi.”

************

It was still daylight when he contacted Dominique again, hoping that she would have the information he required. Now that they had returned from Maximilian Voight’s, they were prepared as they were ever going to be face the enemy, all they needed now was a destination so they could embark upon their quest to retrieve Sam and Pip. Eric knew that Miranda was anxious to learn if Dominique had procured her the answer she needed.  He suspected she had other avenues of acquiring the information but she was reluctant to use them. Considering her past affiliations, Eric could only guess what those sources of information were. 

Following their return to the hotel, they had gathered at Frank and Miranda’s room in order to discuss their next step and Eric decided that this was a good opportunity to see if Dominique had what they needed to proceed further.  He dialed her number once again, hoping that she was not asleep like the last time he called because it was still rather late Sydney time.  However, his original reasoning held that a call  at this time would be largely unexpected by those who might be watching.

“Do,” Eric spoke into the mouthpiece as soon as he heard the tone that indicated that the phone had been answered.

There was a pause and an exhaled breath before he heard a voice answer and it was not Dominique’s.

“Eric,” he heard a decided masculine voice speak.

“Rob?” Eric swallowed thickly and felt his pulse suddenly quicken.  The others in the room fell silent immediately and stared at him in concern.

“They gave me her personal effects at the police station,” his employer said quietly.

“Police station?” Eric closed his eyes, praying that what he suspected Rob was about to tell him was not the truth.

“She’s dead,” Rob said plainly ending that hope with two crushing words.

Eric could not speak as the emotion overcame him. In an instant, his mind flashed to memories of her. Her smile, the way he felt in his arms, the softness of her body under his touch, the perfect pliability of her lips as it molded to his in their heated exchange, he could still remember the scent of her and how intoxicating she had been when he was with her.  The agony of her demise reached up inside him like bile escaping up his throat.

  
“How?” He managed to say.

“She was hit by a car on her way out of the office,” Rob answered, his voice just as strained as Eric’s.  “They didn’t stop. She was dead by the time she hit the pavement.”

“Jesus,” Eric blinked away the tears, “I’m so sorry.”

“How could you bring her into this?” Rob asked. “How could you let them loose on my wife?”

“I didn’t know,” Eric tried to defend himself but it was a weak effort, he would be debating the question himself in the days to come. “I didn’t think she would be in danger.”

“These people are everywhere,” Rob replied mercilessly, “why do you think I sent you to Iceland? You think that assignment was enough to repay you for how you humiliated me? I knew what they were going to do that’s why I sent you. I’ve always belonged to them Eric, always.”

If Eric was really listening, he would have been shocked but in truth, all he could think of was the fact that he had killed Dominique by his actions.

  
“I belonged to them until they killed her,” Robert added softly before pausing.  For a minute, dead air was all that remained between Eric and his former employer, a silence that neither seemed to notice but was incredibly long for all the others in the room.

“Eric,” Robert said after a moment. “Saeran’s estate in Germany is in the Harz Mountains.”

 


	13. Distractions

The modern world was an odd place.

This much Elladan had decided after two visits. He had been alive long enough to believe that there was very little that was beyond him, immortality had a tendency to make one complacent if not a little arrogant. However, since that fateful journey across the sea in order to find Mithrandir who had been lost in Arda for almost four centuries, Elladan had realized that it was entirely possible for an whole world to evolve so considerably that it was virtually impossible for a strange to comprehend all aspects of it without becoming utterly overwhelmed. It was fortunate that they had found allies in Arda for he could not imagine how they would navigated through this alien and sometimes perilous world alone, to say nothing about bringing Mithrandir home.

Their allies, much to their happiness, were familiar souls cloaked in somewhat recognizable if completely different bodies. Elladan and Elrohir had been particularly pleased to have Undomiel and Estel returned to them, albeit in the form of two humans who had little memory of what they meant to the family of the Peredhill. Others who had not been familiar to them in Middle-earth had become trusted friends in their latest instance, such as Boromir of Gondor who now wore the persona of Bryan Miller and those whom they had encountered more recently such as Eric Rowan who had been Eomer Eadig, King of the Mark.

It was hard to see the man who was leaning against their vehicle in the space provided for such devices, staring into the darkness with thoughts only he was privy to, as a king who had lived and breathed war for most of his adult life. Elladan had never really known Eomer even though in the last years of his time in Middle-earth, their kingdoms lay in closer proximity to each other than most. By then the elves were beginning to distance themselves from their human neighbors, preparing for the time when the last of them left Arda forever. It had been simpler to remain detach in order to avoid the pain of parting and while some associations could not be so abruptly forgotten, others were simply overlooked before they could begin. Thus it was with Eomer and so Elladan had never really known the King of the Mark with any great depth.

Eric Rowan was something else entirely. The last few days had made them allies in a dark quest to save Frank and Miranda’s children, while at the same time ensuring that the Silmaril never be delivered to those with evil in their hearts. In some ways, he displayed some of Eomer’s most basic character traits, his willingness to help despite the consequences to himself, a fierce determination to do what was right and possessing a deep sense of connection to Miranda at learning that she may have been his sister, long ago. Elladan did not know Eomer beyond that but as he saw Eric alone, shoulders sagging with the weight of sorrow and eyes full of dark anger and tremendous grief, he wished he knew so that he could say the words to make his pain a little easier to bear.

Shortly after the news had come regarding the death of his friend Dominique, it was decided that they should take some hours to rest before embarking on their journey once again. This time, they had a destination to reach and as Elladan studied the place that the children were being held, he found it quite ironic because earlier he and his brother had noted the familiarity of the area with their Middle-earth past during their travels to reach Frank and Miranda. Following their departure from the inn they had been residing, they had traveled for several hours and had come to pause at what Frank had called a ‘petrol station’. It appeared to be one of the numerous way stations that the twins had seen since returning to Arda. It was a place where travelers came to nourish their vehicles with fuel needed to continue, whilst being able to eat and use the facilities as well.

While the rest of their company was presently scattered about the area accomplishing this, Eric had opted to remain with their vehicle and those who knew him, understood his reason for wanting a moment alone. Elladan approached the car slowly, not wishing to intrude but the others were not far behind and soon they would resume their quest to find the children. Eric’s eyes lifted briefly at his approach before he took a sip from the warm beverage in his cup.

"The others will return soon," Elladan said gently, offering him a warning of sorts.

"That didn’t take long," he muttered quietly, still keeping his eyes locked on something only he could see.

"We must hurry, if we are the breach the enemy’s enclave we must do while there is still darkness," Elladan answered though he was certain that Eric barely heard his answer.

"I suppose," he nodded.

Elladan took a deep breath, aware that to Eric, the cost of learning their enemy’s location was simply to high and the elf would have agreed if he had voiced but it was a deed done.

"Her death is not your fault," he said finally.

"I think it is," Eric answered coolly, reacting little to the discussion of such a personal subject. "If I hadn’t called her, hadn’t gotten her involved, none of this would have happened. She would still be alive."

"You could not have known that this would result in her death," Elladan said gently. "Do not assume responsibility from those who did spill her blood. They are the ones who ended her life; they are the ones who made the choice to kill another. You did not. What you did was attempt to find your sister’s children, an admirable goal."

"Are you sure you have the right bloody person!" Eric barked at him and took a step away before turning around to face Elladan again. "Look at me!" He demanded. "Do I look like a king?"

"Not at all," Elladan replied smoothly, more than accustomed to the outbursts of men whenever it became difficult to express their feelings. "But then you are not Eomer, not any more. You are Eric. Eomer is in your past, you may share his soul and perhaps a distant part of you may remember him in dreams if my sister’s experiences are any indication, but you are exactly who you have always believed yourself to be. Learning about Eomer does not change you, it simply adds to the substance of who you are. The only person who can change that is you, not some vague recollection of a past that is not your life to claim."

"So this stuff up is all mine?" Eric looked at him and saw his brow furrow in confusion. "Stuff up - mistake," he explained.

"Ah," Elladan nodded in understanding, "if you mean the burden of her death, yes that is entirely yours but you were not responsible. She chose to help you knowing the risks, did she not?"

"Not fully," Eric confessed. "She thought that I was in danger, it never occurred to her that she might be as well. She was more interested in helping me because of what she felt for me?"

"She was your lady then?" He met Eric’s gaze.

"Not exactly," Eric shrugged. "She’s someone else’s lady, I just borrowed her for a bit and got sent to Iceland."

  
"I see," the elf answered, never quite understanding how humans could sever their bonding to a mate so easily. For elves, once the bonding was complete, it was permanent. One simply could not shift one’s attentions to another so easily. He supposed that it was the manner in which humans coped with their short existence.

"The truth is," Eric said after a long pause, "that I’m not very proud of myself at the moment."

"Why?" Elladan asked sympathetically, indicating his willingness to listen to Eric purge himself of his perceived shame.

"She left her husband because of me, because I meant _something_ to her. It wasn’t just a brief affair to her. She cared about me, more than I ever imagined because she was willing to risk her life to help me. To me she was just another a woman I was going to have a good time with. I never intended to remain a permanent fixture in her life. I thought we would have our moment and then go our separate ways, I mean those are the rules right?"

It did not sound remotely proper to Elladan but he was not about to pass judgement. True, in the last hundred thousand years, there had been encounters but both were made with the understanding that these were the pleasure of the flesh shared by two who had found comfort in each briefly. There were no permanent attachments but Elladan was certain that the lady in question knew this before any intimacy was shared. "If you say so," he answered noncommittally.

"But it wasn’t that way for her and because she cared about me, she’s dead and I’m sitting here thinking about how many others, who wore their hearts on their sleeve only to be disposed when I was done with them. Jason used to say that I had a short attention span when it came to women and he was right, what a bloody prince I turned out to be." Eric said bitterly, the words feeling like ash in his mouth.

"You were not responsible for her death," Elladan offered, searching for the words that would not waste this pain enlightenment that Eric was experiencing because it was indeed profound and would allow him to grow as a person. "That deed was undertaken by Sauron’s dark minions. However, take what you have learnt, what she had taught you and allow it to temper the manner in which you regard the next woman who catches your eye. Remember that these rules you take for granted may not be known to the hearts you risk breaking by your presumption."

Eric stared at Elladan absorbing his words, wondering what an elf would know about such things before Eric came to the conclusion that it did not matter whether or not he did, only that he was right. Dominique had cared for him, had seen him as more than just a womanizing bachelor who would probably move on to his next conquest once he had tired of her. She had died for her trouble and Eric would have to live with the consequences of that. However, at the moment, the pain of realization was too raw for him to see anything beyond his sorrow and shame. Perhaps tomorrow, he would think about it with greater depth and try to work things out in his head. Right now, he couldn’t face it. The glimpse of himself he had captured through the dark mirror of his understanding was not a image he could stomach and it would be a while before he could cast his gaze into its depths once again.

He was spared having to answer with the arrival of the others and Eric was secretly grateful for that. Perhaps once he could have explained to Elladan the depths of his feelings but that kind of connection to his inner self had died long ago. When he was a real writer who actually sat down at a typewriter and put words to a page, he might have been able to explain the change that had been thrust upon him at Dominique’s passing. However, the pure product of his talent had become diluted in the mire of television journalism and the truth that he had always revered was just as disconnected from him as the belief in its ideals.

"You alright?" Jason asked first, carrying a bag of crisps that he was crunching quite loudly in his mouth.

"I’ll live," Eric answered as he glanced at Elladan, thanking him silently for the supportive ear, even if it did little to alleviate his grief and shame.

"We’ll get those bastards," Jason retorted firmly, a glimmer in his eyes that indicated that despite his casual words, he cared deeply for Eric’s state of mind.

"Too bloody right," Eric said shortly and was surprised by how much he meant it. Dominique may not have meant as much as she should have to him in life, but he was determined that her death was going to be for nothing, that her sacrifice meant a great deal to Sam and Pip. He was determined that when those children were rescued, he would tell that.

He owed Dominique that much.

*************

There were times she missed him so much that it was a physical sensation.

It was deep this longing for him, an ache that speared through her flesh, impaling her heart with piercing accuracy. She had been lost the moment she had given her body to him and had felt somewhat gratified at the realization that her love had taken him by surprise. He was accustomed to acquiring loyalty by the usual mechanisms employed by men of power, fear, pain and intimidation. His minions obeyed him because they feared his power and recognized his lordship over the dark. When she said she loved him, she suspected it had been the first time anyone had ever said those words to him freely and it pleased that for that moment at least, he had been unable to respond with his usual wit.

Still, she understood that he could never love her back. He was after all a god and one could not expect a god to bestow upon one human such a gift when so much of himself would be lost by its admission. He showed her his affection in his own way and for that Irina would die a thousand deaths for him and do with as much devotion as his Nazgul servants. It pleased her that his feelings for her stayed Morgul’s hand when anyone else would die if they spoke to him the way she did. It gave her strength to make the hard choices to get him back, to retrieve him at all costs even if it meant tearing down the walls of heaven and earth to see him again.

The plan which had been so well thought when the Miller children came into her hands was taking some rather unexpected turns. She had assumed that once the children were taken, their parents would wait to be contacted so she could dictate the terms of their release. However, what control she thought she had by having the children brought to her in David’s German residence was becoming tenuous at best. This had come about because of the very unexpected awakening of the Silmaril. She had not factored the presence of elves when she had conceived her plan. With Eric Rowan somehow finding his way to Frank Miller, she had assumed that the archaeology would give up the stone in the journalist’s possession in return of his children. After all, what parent would risk their children’s lives on a jewel that had absolutely no value to him?

However the awakening of the Silmaril had shut down the city of Oslo and so the contact she intended to make with her quarry could not come to pass. Whilst the city remained in its state of limbo, she had no way of tracking them, save sending the Nazgul after them. Thanks to the activation of the Silmaril, there were now too many interested parties honing in on the city and the epicenter of the wave. Her contacts told her that Oslo was at the moment filled with so many operatives of military intelligence from the either sides of the Atlantic, all clamoring to find what had caused a disaster that did not even half the inconvenience of nuclear fallout. She would have sent the Nazgul to find them but where?

It was not until she was notified from their Australian branch that the wife of one of their agents were seeking information regarding the Harz Mountain estate did Irina have some inkling of Frank Miller’s present whereabouts. Of course the operative had taken care of the women easily enough. Sydney was a busy city and terminating the life of one woman was hardly an exertion. However, the information she had attempted to secure had provided Irina with undeniable proof regarding the enemy’s course.

They were coming here.

It should have pleased her that they were but for some odd reason it did not. Instead of being confident that their arrival here would only allow the Nazgul the opportunity to contain all their enemies in one place, all Irina could feel was this nagging doubt that things were spiraling out of her control. As a scientist, it was an ingrained need for Irina to be in control of every situation. She knew from experience that the experiments that usually went awry were the ones that deviated from its original course and this plan of hers had done so considerably since its inception. She was beginning to reconsider the entire notion of using Frank Miller as bait to draw the Valar’s attention. Perhaps it would be simpler if she simply had the entire group killed and took the Silmaril herself to Valinor.

Those who held David captive could not ignore something of such significance and she still had Frank Miller’s children, hidden deep in the mines below them. Yes, the plan needed modification but it could still work. With this in mind, she sent for Morgul who had remained with his brothers in the Domain – what he called the Harz Mountain residence, because he was certain that his nemesis would eventually find her way here.

Considering what Irina now knew, she supposed the wraith was not far wrong.

She waited behind her desk as he entered the office, experiencing a chill as always when he was in her presence, despite the sun against her back through the huge window. The pasty white mask gave away nothing and the dark glasses that hid his crimson eyes from the world always added to her discomfort. She wondered how terrifying these creatures must have been when they were at the height of their power and knew it was a dangerous game she played with him. She knew that Morgul in particular disliked her, believing that she was an indulgence his mater could ill afford to have.

"They are coming," Irina replied, mincing no words with him.

His chest filled with air and Irina wondered if these creatures _actually_ breathe or was it just an echo left behind from the memory of the human bodies they no longer possessed.

  
"I told you this would be so," he said in that slow hissing voice.

"You appear to be correct," Irina answered. "They haven’t discovered exactly where we in Germany we are but I would not underestimate them by assuming they will not find out. We should make preparations to receive them."

"We should kill them," Morgul said sharply. "They have become more troublesome than they are worth."

For once Irina agreed with him. "You are right," she nodded and saw him rear his head in surprise. "I would still prefer Frank Miller captured alive, however if that is not possible then do away with him like the rest of his friends. He has become more trouble than he is worth. We still have the children and with them, we can bargain with the Valar. I am certain that Bryan Miller will be more motivated to convince the Valar to release David once he learns that his nephews had been orphaned because of him."

"Yes," Morgul hissed slowly, allowing himself to feel a wave of pleasure at being finally allowed to vent the full measure of his vengeance upon his hated enemy. "We should allow them to make their way underground," he volunteered readily.

"Do you think that our minions below will be able to deal with them?" Irina asked.

"Our lord selected Celebdil as a home for his secondary fortress for good reason. The mountains may appear slight to your eyes but they are very old and their innards hide great depths and host many creatures that will in time service our needs. Those that you can see are only but a few. There are fouler things than orcs in the deep places of the world." Morgul responded staring at her hard.

Irina shuddered aware of the ulterior motives that Saeran had in building his fortresses where he had. In Romania, once Mordor, he had constructed his domain on the ruins of Barad-dur, the ancient capital of his kingdom. Here on the peak of the Harz Mountains, which he had often called Celebdil though he would never explain why, he had built this fortress and often allowed Morgul and his brothers to command the creatures existing in the underground caverns below. After the destruction of the Romanian domicile, Irina had sent all the Uruks that had not been killed to the hollow places inside the mountain. David’s presence kept the creatures below in check for they were deathly afraid of him. However, his absence made them complacent and thus the arrival of the Uruks had provided a fresh reminder of where their loyalties ought to be.

"I hope you are right," Irina returned. "Your incompetence has cost us dearly already. Too much of this plan has gone astray because you could not recover the Silmaril from two humans."

Morgul hissed loudly, a chilling sound that revealed his anger. He reached across the desk and grabbed her once more, his cold grip against her skin like ice.

"Release me," she ordered as he pulled her across the desk and raised his hand to strike.

"You are nothing but a receptacle for his seed," Morgul hissed. "Do not presume to judge me or my brothers. Our alliance is borne out of necessity. I could kill you now and offer the resources of this organization to another more pliable if I so wish it. I do nothing of the kind for the sake of my master alone. You amuse him and that is the only reason why your head is still connected to the rest of you, flesh sac. Speak to me in the same manner again and I _will_ kill you."

"You wouldn’t dare," she glared at him, determined not to be afraid because Morgul like to posture and she had enjoyed David’s more brutal expressions of love to be frightened of the wraith’s grip on her.

"He knows my value. He will destroy me out of anger and let me vanish to the shadow realm but only a while," he gloated. If Morgul still had flesh, he would be smiling. "When he requires me and when my penance is done, I will serve him again. You however, will be replaced by a younger, preferably less vocal receptacle."

"Let me go!" She barked and then slapped him in good measure, unable to deny that his words cut to the bone more than they should. He barely noticed the blow and returned

He released her roughly, allowing her to fall back into her chair, before releasing a throaty laugh once that was almost as terrifying as his voice. She watched him turn away, the sting of his amusement in her ears as he proceeded out of her office, radiating triumph at winning this serve in their battle of wills.

Inwardly, Irina began to hope that Miranda Miller could manage an encore of their battle at Pelennor Fields and kill the son of a bitch.

***********

Taking a ferry through the channel between Denmark and Germany, they traveled southward trying to beat the sunrise but it became clear that by the time they reached Hanover, they would be exhausted. They had been journeying at a breakneck speed, pausing at intervals to rest or to acquire information or supplies. Considering what they were about to face when they arrived at Saeran’s mountain estate, it was unwise for them to make the attempt without acquiring some measure of rest. Miranda could not deny her comrades or her husband the respite because she knew what it was like to enter a combat situation when one was in terrible physical condition.

It was dark when they drove into Goslar, which suited them, fine because few people were awake at that hour of the morning and saw their entry into the community. Hailed as the Gateway to the Harz Mountains, it was a pretty German town with provincial air in its traditional architecture and cobblestone streets. While it was difficult to make any observations of real depth because much of the community was shrouded in darkness, enough was seen of Goslar to make that determination. They checked into the Hotel Hartzeff, which sat at the bottom edge of the woods covering the Harz Mountains. Delightfully luxurious, as most of the hotels were in a tourist town, the comforts provided went a long way to renewing their strength after the arduous few days.

Miranda found herself soaking in the tub, trying to bleed the tension out of her body and knowing that she would not be entirely able to do so, not while her children were lost to her. She was several kinds of aggression waiting to be unleashed and she just knew that if she did not get herself under control, she was going to get herself killed and be utterly no help to her boys. She sat in the tub with its covering layer of foam, her cheeks moist from the steam, thinking about Sam and Pip. What they must be thinking at this moment. She thought of Sam sitting with her in their garden, his small hands working oversized tools, enjoying the simple pleasure of being with mum as they planted flowers. She thought of how quickly he had taken to it, which was odd because he never really showed an interest in working the dirt, when Frank was out on a dig. She missed him beyond her ability to describe and Pip, who was her baby, who still engendered in her that perfect image of an infant cradled comfortably in her arms, made her want to weep.

She had promised to keep them safe. The first time she had looked into Sam’s face, she had promised that she would allow nothing to hurt him. After Belfast, after seeing so many dead children killed by bombs and guns, for arguments that held no meaning in this modern day except to those who would shed blood in its defense, she was determined her son would never know that kind of ugliness. When Pip was born, she had made the same vow. She wondered if every parent made that oath the first time.

The tears came before she was even aware of it.

  
She was sitting in the tub, sobbing loudly into her hands, wondering how she could have failed them. She wanted them to have no black memories, no terrible images to bury away in the night, no walls that kept the truth and the unpleasantness held back. Such walls had a tendency to shut out other things as well and she knew that because of her own, she had been rather disconnected from her children and her husband, no matter how much she loved them.

"Mir," Frank stepped into the bathroom, hearing the sobs from outside the door.

"Oh Frank!" She burst out.

  
He was at her side in seconds, embracing her hard even though she was wet and covered in soap. She buried her face in his shoulder and sobbed.

"Its alright luv," he said softly, caressing her wet hair, uncertain at what had brought on this burst of emotion but caring only that he could be hear to help her through it. Lord, the love he had for her. The unbelievably fierce emotion that ripped the thought from his mind at any harm coming to her person. Since she walked into his life, he had been in awe and while he knew that she would always be stronger than him in will, that she could these amazing things, even before the kidnapping, he was never threatened by it. Why should he, when his purpose for being was moments like this, to catch her when she fell.

"I miss them so much," she stuttered. "I promised them that I would never allow anything terrible to happen to them and I let those thing take them! I couldn’t stop it!"

"It wasn’t your fault," he insisted. "I was there, I couldn’t stop it either."

"But I should have known!" She pulled away, her face drenched with tears and anguish as she stared at him. "I always knew that something bad was going to happen because that’s how the world is, bad. There’s always something waiting in the darkness, something that will reach out and break you no matter how much you think everything is going to work out."

"Like Belfast?" He asked.

She paused a moment, her face etched in sorrow and Frank could see the debate taking place behind her eyes, the decision whether or not to trust him with this secret he had all but guessed years before.

"Yes," she nodded slowly, "like Belfast."

"Tell me what happened, Miranda?" He coaxed gently. "Help me to understand."

"It was routine," she said softly, her eyes dropping to the foams covered water, watching the bubbles burst silently into nothingness. "It was just a simple drop. I was to pass Bryan some information. He was my contact back then. I was under deep cover with a splinter IRA group, real fanatics. My mission was to get close to its leader, find out what his plans were. I found out he was going to blow up a government building in town somewhere so I contacted Bryan to pass the details of the bombing so it could be stopped. Unfortunately, it was a trap and we were both caught."

Frank tensed and tried not to show how distressed he was at learning how close his brother had come to death and he had never had the slightest inkling of it. How many times had Bryan walked into the fire without Frank ever being aware of it? Even though they were as close as brothers could be, Frank had noticed the rift that had been created because of Bryan’s work. Was this why?

"They almost killed him," Miranda continued, her eyes closed as she saw in her mind’s eye what Bryan had endured, the beatings, the electrical shocks and the knives. She remembered seeing his blood across the concrete floor, a sight that still haunted her dreams. She remembered his screams because after two days of continuous torture, he ceased to care who heard him. "Your brother was strong, he didn’t tell them anything. He didn’t tell them when they took me and tortured me and finally raped me."

She met his gaze then, waiting to see his reaction. A part of her was terrified but a part of her was also relieved that after so long she had finally uttered the words and was even more astonishing, it did not appear that world was coming to an end by his knowing.

"I guessed," Frank replied, reaching for her hand. "First time I met you, I knew it was something like that."

"I should have told you before this," Miranda confessed, fresh tears pooling in her eyes because she had underestimated him when he had done everything to prove his love for her during the past ten years. "I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. During the whole thing, I convinced myself it wasn’t me, just the person they thought I was - the one who betrayed them. I was staring at Bryan for most of it, terrified that his seeing it was what was going to break him. He cried you know, he cried that he couldn’t stop it. That he _wouldn’t_. He knew all he had to do was open his mouth and tell them everything and it would stop but he _couldn’t_."

Frank did not know whether or not he could have sat by and allowed such a thing to happen. He wanted to see his brother to talk about this. The world that Miranda and Bryan lived was a frightening one where the rules of common decency was a blurry line that often did not stand up to scrutiny against the overwhelming importance of their secret agendas.

"I never blamed him for that and I broke free, it was easy to do because those bastards thought that raping me meant I was finished. I wasn’t. In the service, we know that it could happen. Being female makes that a reality we live with. I thought if I could push it away somewhere inside me, I would never have to deal with the scars. When Bryan and I broke out of there, after we killed every one of those animals, he couldn’t even look at me until I told him I understood. I was Firm, just like him, I knew the rules of game. I thought I handled it well until I got home and started pushing people away, I didn’t even realize I was doing it and the more I thought about it, the more I thought it was easier to just end it all. And then one day something happened and everything changed," Miranda stared at him.

"What?"

"You," She smiled faintly, her face covered with streaks. "You came into my life when I needed you most. I don’t know if I ever told you how much loving you saved me. You think that what you’re finding out about me now is intimidating? What I learnt from you was even more frightening. You showed me that there was more than just walls, that it was okay to feel completely without having to guard emotions or to be in control. You were the best surprise Frank and I don’t think I ever told you how much you I love you, for what you taught to me and for the sons you gave me."

Frank captured her lips in a passionate kiss, holding her against him as their bodies met over the edge of the bath. He held her, unaware that there was moisture in his eyes. "It was my pleasure," he said with just as much emotion in his voice, "I love you Miranda, no matter what happens tonight, I will always love you."

And he meant it because if they failed to save Sam and Pip, then it would be all they had left.

****************

  
"There it is," Miranda said as she crouched low behind the cover of trees.

"Its right in the open," Jason declared seeing the mansion that sat on the peak of the mountain. The trees had been cleared in order to accommodate the estate and though the tree line was encroaching the fence line, there was still enough of a gap to ensure that any approach would be seen.

"We can still make it," Miranda frowned, wishing that there was more cover as she looked through the binoculars. "We’ll definitely have to move under cover of dark."

"A place like this will have security," Jason added, "probably lots of it."

"Not to mention the Nazgul will know that we are approaching if we are carrying the Silmaril," Elrohir reminded.

  
"For all we know," Miranda gazed at her two companions as they quietly observed David Saeran’s estate from the tree line, "they could already know we’re here."

"So much for the element of surprise," Jason frowned.

Leaving the others behind, the trio had emerged in daylight to carry out something of a reconnaissance mission so that when they returned at nightfall, they would have some idea as to the lay of the land. Unfortunately, all that had been achieved upon seeing the considerable vantagepoint utilized by the mansion in its positioning at the top of the Harz Mountains was how difficult their approach would be.

"We’ll manage," Miranda said quietly, determined to let nothing come between her and her children. There are four guards on each wall of the grounds. They look human enough."

"Five," Elrohir remarked, squinting his eyes to focus. "There is a further sentry at the far end."

Miranda lowered her binoculars and scowled at the elf who did not need any such device to see that distance. "Show off," she accused, drawing a smile from him.

"My elf eyes see a great deal," he shrugged, grinning.

"Right," Miranda rolled her eyes and faced the fortress once more. "We’ll have to take out the guards on the western wall. It’s closest to the tree line."

"If I could get close enough, I might be able to see what kind of electronics they have in place," Jason sighed with disappointment, "but no way I’m getting a look without being seen."

"He built his fortress here for good reason," Elrohir remarked, "its easily defendable."

"What was the name of it again?" Jason asked remembering that the estate had an interesting name when they had asked the locals directions to reach it.

"Celebdil," Elrohir answered before Miranda could. "Sauron remembers his elvish."

  
"Elvish?" Miranda stared at him. "Celebdil is elvish? What does it mean?"

"It was not so much a meaning as it is a name," Elrohir declared, his mind having recognized the Harz Mountains for what it was once he had learnt the name of Sauron’s bastion here. Many of its features had been eroded away; the land had been contorted and twisted. Imladris should have been north of here but Eru’s shaping of the land had left it southwards. Elrohir did not begin to understand the creator’s motives but once he had learn the name of these mountains, he was able to discern where they were. "In my time, these were a part of the Misty Mountains. Celebdil was one of three peaks above the realm of Moria."

"Moria?" Jason rose a brow and felt something stirring inside of him. At first impulse, he would have deny flatly knowing anything about it but as the name lingered in his thoughts, there was something about it that felt almost familiar.

"Yes," Elrohir nodded, "Moria was the home of the great dwarf kingdom of Khazadum. However, by the time you and the Fellowship journey through there, it was abandoned."

"I was there?" Jason exclaimed. "I mean here?"

"You were forced to journey through the mines of Moria during the quest," the elf explained as if this were some trivial piece of information that he should be made aware.

"Come on," Miranda said shrinking away from the tree she was standing behind, "we should get back to the others."

  
Elrohir and Jason followed suit as they descended the steep incline that led to the bottom of the mountain where they had left the van. In a few hours, it would be dusk and they had yet to produce a plan that would allow them to invade the enemy’s fortress without completely giving themselves away.

"So he picked this place to build his fortress because of this Moria?" Jason asked as they set a brisk pace down the mountain.

"It is may be so," Elrohir answered, considering the question. "During the quest, Moria was inhabited by goblin and the balrog that Olorin slew on this peak."

"Balrog?" Miranda had to ask.

"Yes," he nodded, "a terrible beast of fire that was servant of Morgoth. They had not been seen for many ages until that time. It is believed that they were destroyed in the War of the Wrath"

Half of his words made little sense to his human companions but it was enough for them to feel a certain anxiety as to the presence of further such creatures. "I do not believe they exist any longer."

"What about these goblins?" Jason asked not quite convinced that there was nothing to worry about. After all, a good many things that were supposedly apart of the mythical world had in recent days become terrifyingly real. The world as he had known it had changed shape considerably and while the truth was nowhere as overwhelming to him as it was to Frank, Jason could not deny that it was a great deal to accept in so short a time. Suddenly words like ‘elves’, ‘dark lords’ and phantom creatures that did not die had become apart of his vocabulary. It was not so improbably that goblins might suddenly make their appearance as well.

"As far as I remember," Elrohir tried to recall the dwarves’ machinations in Moria following the War of the Ring. "There was an effort made by the dwarves of Durin’s line to reclaim Moria but all that was achieved was the destruction of the goblins who had given aid to the balrog during its reign in Khazad-dum. Many of their kin were lost during this occupation and the dwarves were not about to let their deaths go unpunished. An expedition was made to drive out the goblins after the death of the balrog that I believe was largely successful. However, the dwarves did not linger for too long after the enemy had been driven away. With so many dead, Khazad-dum was considered cursed and abandoned for all time. Sauron however, would have had great relish in establishing his stronghold here since during the war of the Second Age, Khazad-dum had sealed their doors to him and prevented his army from conquering it."

"So he built here to rub their faces in it," Miranda nodded in understanding. "Some sort of gesture prove that finally, Khazad-dum is his?"

"That is Sauron’s way," Elrohir nodded.

"What a bastard," she snorted and Elrohir could not say he disagreed with her opinion.

*************

 

Frank listened closely to Miranda’s observations about David Saeran’s Harz Mountain fortress and felt a wave of disappointment at what she had discovered there. As Elladan had warned, the enemy most likely were aware of them. The Silmaril was a dead giveaway. The Nazgul may not be able to discern their position exactly so far away but they would definitely sense its presence. Unfortunately, the jewel was simply to valuable, not to mention dangerous to leave in anyone else’s care so they had no alternative but to keep it with them.

He listened to Miranda telling them what they discovered during their reconnaissance expedition and was glad to see she was handling the disappointment better. Since their talk earlier that day, Frank had noticed the renewed spirit in her wife’s manner. It was as if unburdening herself to him about Belfast had finally allowed Miranda some measure of piece and given her the focus she needed to get Sam and Pip back without wavering at every disappointment. The problem before them was considerable but instead of lamenting it, she was focussing on solving the crisis.

"So we’re stuffed," Eric declared bitterly, clearly stinging by the fact that the information Dominique had died to provide them was not yielding the results he desired.

"We’re at an impasse," Miranda corrected, "we simply have to think of another way."

"We could disable the guards," Elladan suggested, "however, I do not know how effective that will be since it is likely that the Nazgul will be present. They may be weakened by Sauron’s imprisonment in the Undying Lands but they are still a force to be reckoned with."

"It will take time to search for the children in that house," Elrohir added, "even if we are able to enter his domain without notice. Time is what we do not have. We could not search for them so without bringing down the entire fortress upon our heads."

Frank listened to their debate, silently taking all their suggestions and building himself a complete tapestry from which he could create a plan. It was a practice he had honed over the years as an archaeologist, bringing together fragments of information to construct something of value. Of course, this time it was not an artifact he was trying to explain but the survival of his children. He let their words drone in his ears, taking from their snippets of conversation what was of value and discarding the rest.

  
They needed the element of surprise.

They no longer had it because the enemy knew that they were here and if they did not, they soon would.

The Nazgul could sense the Silmaril. Humans could not.

The Nazgul would need to take charge of the Silmaril themselves. He doubted they would entrust the matter to anyone else, not when it was their master’s fate and by extension their own that hung in the balance. It was too important to them to lose and they would personally handle any retrieval of the jewel themselves rather than entrust to tasks to any minion.

"We need a distraction," Frank finally spoke silencing the others who were listening.

"It would have to be a bloody big distraction," Eric remarked staring at the archaeologist.

"It is," Frank nodded. "It’s going to be me."

*************

It did not surprise Irina Sadko when the telephone call she had been awaiting for the past few days finally arrived.

She was at her desk, pouring through reports from various contacts, seeking any information regarding the present whereabouts of Frank Miller. As last report, the archaeologist and his companions were in Denmark since the telephone call that Eric Rowan had made to his friend Dominique in Sydney had originated from there. At that point, the journalist had been seeking the location of the mansion in Germany and there was no reason to assume that he would not have acquired the information from other sources since Dominique had been unable to respond. Contacts placed at strategic travel centers from Denmark and northern Germany had kept watch for the travelers because Irina was almost certain they would be heading in this direction.

And she was right.

The Nazgul had sensed the presence of the Silmaril but they could not sense where the jewel was. It felt close but also distant at the same time. Morgul had attempted to explain but Irina had paid little attention, since the information was useless unless he could actually pinpoint the jewel’s exact location. He and his brothers had wanted to set out immediately in search of Frank and his companions but Irina had stayed his hand because there really was no need. As long as their children was in her power, Frank and Miranda Miller had no alternative to play her game despite leading them on a merry chase the past few days.

"Professor Miller," Irina said smoothly after Frank had introduced himself to her. "What can I do for you?"

"I think you know," came the equally measured reply.

"You are a difficult man to contact Professor Miller," she continued. "This would have been so much more expedient if you had stayed put and let us find you."

"I seriously doubt that," he said dryly, not believing it for an instant. "I’ve seen your Nazgul’s handiwork. I don’t intend to end up the same way as my colleague Professor Skogull."

"An unfortunate situation," she answered not at all concerned, "however, let us not mince words. I have your sons and you have something that belong to me."

"It is hardly yours," Frank retorted. "However, it means nothing to me. I just want my children back."

"Then we can do business," she eased back into her chair with a little smile of triumph, grateful that at last, they could see daylight at the end of this tunnel. Very soon, everything she had dreamed off since discovering the Silmaril had been unearthed would come to pass. Soon, David would be with her again. The thought sent shivers of delight through her skin.

"Meet me at Alter Bahnhof in one hour," Frank said curly, "bring my children and you can have this damn jewel."

She knew the place, it was the venue for an old train station. A main route for those travelling into the heart of Goslar from the north. "I need more than the jewel," she insisted. "I need you."

"That’s not the agreement," he said firmly. "You bring my children and you have the jewel. We’ll go our separate ways and trouble each other no further."

This was a trap, Irina was certain. She wondered if he thought her so naive as to trust that he would not attempt to deceive her. If there were elves in his company than the Professor would have been appraised of the Silmaril’s value and the possible reason that she wanted to acquire it so desperately Everything she knew about the man thus far indicated that he was not a coward. One did not stay a step ahead of the Nazgul by being a fool. No, she was certain that he intended to keep his children and the Silmaril.

"If that is the way it must be," Irina answered after a brief pause. "Then I shall bring your children and take what belongs to me. Bear in mind that should you choose to deceive us, I’ll have the killed before your eyes. I would do it out of sheer spite. Do we understand each other?"

She heard his breath quicken on the other end of the line and knew he was restraining his anger.

"Yes," he answered sourly a moment later. "Perfectly."

"Excellent," Irina replied with a smile the Professor could not see. "We will meet shortly."

Once the connection between them was ended, Irina sent for the Nazgul. Morgul as always led his brothers into the office and wondered if they looked to him for leadership because of David’s disappearances or because he was chief among them. Whatever the reason, she spared little time in considering it deeper. They were David’s creations and other than their usefulness to retrieving what was his, she had very little feeling for them and utterly loathed Morgul most of all.

"He is here as you suspected," she announced.

"We will find him," Morgul said beginning to turn away when Irina stopped him.

"He has agreed to the trade," Irina said quickly. "He expects you to arrive in one hour at the Alter Bahnhof so that he can exchange the Silmaril for his children."

"He will be disappointed," the Nazgul said without hesitation.

"That is for certain," Irina nodded. "You will retrieve the Silmaril from him and kill everyone else. We need only the Professor. The others are merely inconveniences."

"And the children?" Morgul hissed loudly, his heart still craving for vengeance against the maiden of Rohan and her present incarnation.

"They are not to be harmed until the Professor has jumped through an adequate number of hoops first. Keep them where they are," she declared. "They will not be causing much mischief in those depths."

Morgul nodded in agreement but he had something else in mind.

 

************

.

How long had they been in this dark place?

  
Sam honestly could not tell because the lack of sunrise and sunset made it difficult to tell how many days had gone past. It must have been many though, he thought to himself, wishing he had been able to read clocks and watches a little better. Of course, he had no watch to speak of so it was most likely a skill that would have gone to complete waste even if he did know how. Thoughts like this, racing with disorientation from light depravation and a lack of sleep, filled his thoughts. Pip still had not spoken and continued to stare into the darkness and at their sentry who stood sphinx like at the entrance of the cavern that was their cell.

"I wonder how many of them there are," Sam spoke to Pip even though he was accustomed to that by now. It would take mum and dad to find them before he was able to escape this abyss that had ensnared him.

"They’ve been here a long time," he continued, cringing a little when he heard their excited voices beyond the walls of their cavern. He hoped the big Uruk Hai guard could keep those creatures away from them. It was strange how he came to rely on one monster to protect them from many others.

Suddenly, he heard footsteps, heavy and ominous approaching the cavern. He sat up straight, his body becoming a rigid as he felt the same chill creeping along his spine in an all too familiar sensation. He knew who it was before the person actually arrived. After the last three days of being in the presence of its hatred and malice, it was impossible for Sam not to sense when the Nazgul appeared at the doorway. The Uruk bowed his head slightly at being in the presence of the Black Rider, almost as if he was in church praying to God or something.

Pip had started to shudder. His small body quivering in fright because even in his possibly catatonic state, he recognized the evil air of the enemy. The Nazgul approach the cell, staring at Sam with those impassive mask in place. The young boy slid his arm around his brother, willing what dwindling courage he had into Pip’s body.

"Its okay Pip," Sam said quickly. "They can’t kill us if they want dad to do what they want."

He clung to this hope like a drowning man in a vast ocean clinging to a piece of flotsam.

"I’m afraid your brother is right," Morgul said as the door open and he reached through the cell to grab Sam’s arm. "However, we did not say anything about hurting you."

The blade speared through Sam’s shoulder and tore a scream from him without much difficulty.

"SAM!" Sam heard Pip squeal as the pain seared through his body.

He fell against the dirt about the same time as the blade in the Black Rider’s hand. As the pain swallowed him whole, the last thing Sam was conscious of before his mind fell into darkness was the fact that the blade that was only seconds ago stained with his blood, had suddenly disappeared in a puff of black ash.


	14. Bait

 

  
This was dangerous and he knew it.

As the twilight evening began to encroach upon the day, Frank looked at his watch and knew that it would not be long before the enemy arrived to claim their prize. He hoped that this very considerable gamble he was taking with his life was worth it but he knew he had little choice. The others needed a distraction in order to do what was needed and unfortunately, Frank was the only one who was capable of providing it. For his sons, he was willing to take the risk and his part in their rescue, despite his role, as decoy was nowhere as dangerous as what Miranda and the others were planning to do.

Glancing at his watch, he saw his appointment with the Sadko woman was looming closer and that she and the Nine would soon be arriving. at the dilapidated train station he had chosen as their meeting place. The station had been abandoned some time ago and was left to languish as paint peeled, metal rusted and brick turned dull from weathering and grime. The floorboards of the steps he was standing were equally worn and visible cracks appeared in the wood.

As far as he knew, the Pirnaer Station or Alter Bahnhof as it was known by the locals was build in the mid 1800’s as part of an incentive to provide the German people with an effective mass rapid transit system for the regions of Saxonia. Now it was a place for vagrants to take shelter during the night. He had seen syringes and various other drug paraphernalia when he was walking about the place earlier so this was definitely not the place to be at sundown, especially today.

Frank could not believe how alone he felt at this moment.

Throughout this entire affair, he had been blessed with the presence of the others, from Elladan and Elrohir to the even more ambiguous Eric Rowan and Jason Merrick. They were an eclectic group but the last few days had forged a deep friendship between them. Seeing Eric and Miranda together should have made him feel threatened but it did not. He could almost believe that they were brother and sister in another life. They certainly behaved that way together. He knew enough about sibling relationships to recognize what was taking place between them.

Through the madness of the last few days, these people had become his friends and now that they had set out on their own task, he felt utterly alone and vulnerable. It surprised Frank how much their presence had lent to his own strength during this entire affair. During their journey from Norway, he had been spending his time keeping the twins appraised of everything that was happening because their lack of understanding in the modern world. The scholar in him rose to the occasion to help the two elves. When he was not doing that, he was playing foil between Jason and Eric whose relationship for some unfathomable reason reminded him of the dynamic between Mel Gibson and Danny Glover in the Lethal Weapons films.

And then there was Miranda who had been keeping a dreadful secret all these years, not from him but rather from herself. He suspected that as long as she kept the truth hidden, she did not have to suffer the indignity of what had happened to her. Telling him had forced her to confront it and he had seen the surprise in her face when she realized revealing it had not changed anything. He still loved her and always would. If they ever survived this nightmare, Frank wanted to talk to Bryan about it because there were some thing about Belfast that he needed to ask his brother.

Frank heard the cars long before he saw them and immediately fought the instinct to get into the rent-a-car he had hired and start driving. However, he maintained his composure and fixed his gaze upon the street from the steps of the station.

Judging from the low drone of the engines Frank could make out the approach of at least two cars. He made his way down the steps and stood beside against the door of his rented Saab, more than ready to flee if it looked like things were going to go badly. Miranda had not wanted him to do this alone but he had managed to convince her because the maternal instinct to go to her children was too much for her to ignore. He did not blame her for choosing the children instead of staying at his side. He was their father and faced with a similar choice, he would do the same because he knew Miranda could take care of herself. He supposed it was harder for her because she did not know that about him.

They would know by now that he did not have the Silmaril, Frank decided hoping that it would not alter the plan. He had to buy Miranda time and unless this Irina Sadko thought him a fool, would surely understand that he would not be stupid enough to produce the jewel until after he had some evidence that his children were alive. Nor did he believe for an instant the woman would actually bring Sam and Pip with her. No, they had secret agendas the both of them and it was a question of who would tip their hand first. He glanced at the sky and saw the sun was beginning its descent into the horizon, bleeding amber into the mountains as it disappeared.

The cars appeared on the street and slowed to a crawl. Even though their windows were tinted, Frank knew this was because they had seen him. The vehicles gleamed in the diminishing light, long stretched cars, with smooth black paintwork. It seemed curiously appropriate as the main mode of travel for the Nine. According to Elladan, the Nine had ridden horses in the day, black steed with crimson eyes that were reputed to see for them in the daylight. It had made his skin crawl thinking about it and yet despite how unbelievable it sounded, Frank knew it was true. He could feel it. Perhaps his mind no longer held any memories of his life as Faramir of Ithilien but his soul certainly remembered.

His slid one hand behind him and rested it on the chrome of the door handle when he saw the cars pulling to a halt in front of the old station. He drew a deep breath and steadied himself. While this sort of clandestine, cloak and dagger affair may be common place for Bryan, Faramir had little experience with such things and he was not ashamed to admit he was nervous. The wheels of both cars grated against the gravel as it came to a stop. Barely a fraction of second had passed after the engines had gone quiet before the door swung open.

The woman who emerged from the car was extraordinarily beautiful. Sultry eyes, full red lips and luxurious dark hair spilled over her face. It was a face that exuded sex and would have been terribly attractive to a dark lord who enjoyed the trappings of power and equally formidable women. He had but a moment to observe her as she climbed out of her car in her expensive clothes and heels, her eyes hidden beneath dark sunglasses because she had not arrived alone.

Their presence made him feel cold, like a shadow that had suddenly blocked out the sun. His skin crawled at the sight of these men, not men, these  _wraiths_ , in their dark suits and their Michael Myers like masks. There had been little opportunity to observe them earlier, because he and his companions had been too busy running from these bastards but now that they were on somewhat neutral ground, Frank had to confess that they were even more terrifying than ever. He could believe the stories the twins told him about these creatures, about their effectiveness in carrying out their master’s bidding. Frank was certain that half their power was the ability to intimidate and control others by fear alone.

"Professor Miller," Irina said walking up to him, one of the Nine was following her closely while the others fanned out over the area, attempting to block any effort he made to escape. "You have led us on a merry chase, haven’t you?"

"I take it you’re Irina Sadko, David Saeran’s lover?" Frank asked, wanting to clarify that this was indeed the woman who had almost killed his brother six months ago.

The corner of her lip crooked slightly and she turned a powerful gaze at him, "one and the same."

"He does not carry it," the wraith at her side hissed. "You do not have the Silmaril." He accused Frank.

His voice send fresh chills up Frank’s spine and it took a moment for the archaeologist to answer. Outwardly, it appeared he was deliberating his answer, however inside him was a struggle to carry out this play to its inevitable end.

"You do not have my sons so I suppose we are rather even on that score aren’t we?" He returned just as acidly, his courage renewed when he remembered that these bastards had Pip and Sam.

Irina shifted her head long enough to give the wraith something of a sharp glare before she removed her sunglasses and faced Frank with perfect ease on her face.

"Professor," she stared at him. "I am perfectly aware that this is a trap, that you do not intend to give me my jewel which is why I never brought the children. However, you are here alone, there is nothing to prevent me from having my associates take you by force and then deal with your successor in our negotiations."

"If I don’t call my wife within the hour," Frank said glaring at her with an expression of ice, "she is going to get a boat and sail to the middle of the ocean and drop your precious jewel in the drink. Let’s see you retrieve your master when the Silmaril is in the bottom of the North Atlantic."

"You’re bluffing," Irina challenged as the wraith beside her stiffened with anger.

"Am I?" He asked coldly, "I have no guarantee my children are alive. I’m supposed to take your word that you haven’t killed them already? I’m afraid that’s not going to do. I want to know that they are alive and until I know that, you can assume anything you like but you won’t get your hands on the jewel."

"DO NOT TEST US!" The wraith hissed in menace, taking a step towards Frank. "I almost killed Faramir in the Third Age and if it were not the cursed heir of Isildur, he would have died! Do not assume his fortune is yours. You may possess his soul but Faramir will always be the weakling child of Denethor and the lesser sibling of Boromir."

For reasons he could not understand, the wraith’s words struck at the core of him. It hurt even if he did not know why. "I don’t know what you’re talking about." Frank said thickly.

"I think you do," the witch king answered.

"Enough of this," Irina shot Morgul a penetrating look to silence him before she turned to Frank. "Your children are alive but keep us waiting any longer and we may not be so reasonable. Take us to the jewel now."

"Alright," Frank nodded, deciding he did not want to be in the company of these things any longer than necessary. By now, Miranda and the others were where they ought to be and if Frank could keep the Nazgul away for just a little while longer, there was every chance they could find the children. "Follow me," he turned towards the car.

"I think not," Irina stated firmly stopping in his tracks.

Frank froze, perfectly aware that the plan could go this way and though he did not relish the idea of being in their company when they learnt of the trap, he knew that he had no alternative but to surrender himself to their ministrations. It was part of the reason Miranda had protested so greatly about his role in this plan and why he would allow no others to accompany him. If everything went according to plan, his incarceration would be brief, if not he was willing to die for the life of his children.

"I would rather  _not_  be in your company," he declared, trying to talk his way out of it if possible, even though it was unlikely that they were willing to let him out of their site.

"You will ride with us!" The Nazgul’s cold hand clamped around his shoulder and pulled him away from the Saab.

"Take your hands off me!" Frank fairly snarled with such ferocity that the wraith released his shoulder, startled. Frank glared at him, still remembering what had happened to Hans, still remembering how these animals had killed the old man in cold blood without giving it a second thought. Throughout all this, Hans’ death had been pushed aside because they had more important things to focus their thoughts but confronting his killer had surfaced all of Frank’s hatred in a split second.

"Get in the car," Irina ordered, glancing at the dark vehicle.

"Fine," Frank said quietly, disappointment and fear surging through his veins. It was so thick that he could barely contain it but knew he must for the sake of his wife and children.

Casting a longing glimpse at the Saab and at the curtain of night that had finally descended upon the world, Frank walked to the open door of the black vehicle and felt curiously as if he was entering the maw of hell.

*************

 

The sun had disappeared.

Elladan and Elrohir were standing at the edge of the forest and yet remained unseen through the thick branches that intertwined with each. They had moved stealthily, making little sound as only elves could do as they emerged in the darkness just beyond the trees. Armed with bows that were surprising lightly considering they were made of some kind of metal alloy, they stared at the low wall guarded by five sentries. The protection was needed because the height of the wall ensured anyone could simply climb over it and gain access to the grounds of the mansion. The guards in their darks suits, seemed oblivious to their presence because the eyes of men could not see so far ahead and what visual information they were able to garner was obscured by darkness. Elves of course, had no such limitations.

"You take the two on the left and I shall take the three on the right," Elladan said quietly.

"Why do you get three?" Elrohir asked.

"Because I am better with a bow that you are," his brother said with a smile, his teeth gleaming under the light of the moon.

"No you are not," Elrohir bristled with annoyance. "You are no better than I am."

"Hey," Miranda’s voice interjected from the cover of trees, "you want to get this bloody done or do you want to drop your pants and have me settle it with a ruler?"

"What?" Elladan looked over his shoulder in confusion.

"You don’t want to know," Eric warned helpfully.

The two elves frowned at each other before turning focussing on the task at hand. With arrow in the quiver slung across their back, they watched the quarry for a few seconds, continuing their vigil to ensure no one invaded their master’s domain. The sentries were human but this was expected. Secrecy was very much of a tool in Sauron’s machinations in Arda this day. The Uruks that had been created were most likely hidden away until they were needed, kept from the sigh of men who would not understand what they were.

"On the count of three," Elladan said to his brother who nodded promptly in agreement.

_"Minë....atta.... neldë!"_

No sooner than the word had been given, Elladan let loose the bow and promptly reached for another in order to shoot again. It was said that Legolas Greenleaf could do to arrows at once but then he was the greatest of all elven archers. In any case, the first arrow struck its target with shocking efficiency, slicing through the throat of the enemy without allowing him time to scream. He toppled over as his comrades began to react to his death but their shock had no sooner registered before they too were assailed with similar arrows.

One by one they fell, both twins aiming to ensure that each arrow met its target in a place where they would be killed instantly, without being able to cry for help. The carnage lasted for less than ten seconds but when those moments had passed, the place where the enemy had stood guard was now covered with corpses.

"It is clear," Elrohir spoke to the others awaiting their signal.

Miranda, Jason and Eric appeared not long after he had spoken, dressed in dark clothes and carrying backpacks each with rifles slung over their shoulders. While Miranda and Jason had little trouble with the weight, Eric appeared as if he was very uncomfortable with wielding a weapon. The notion brought a faint smile to Elladan’s lips considering how fierce a warrior Eomer of the Mark was reputed to be. He supposed Eric was not that different from Aaron who felt the taking of life was rather abhorrent. While in some ways, Aaron was very much like Aragorn, there were other ways where he was totally different. However, the spirit of the soul remained and though the twins knew that like Aragorn, Aaron would suffer the Doom of Men, it was good to know that their parting would not be forever.

"Quickly," Miranda prompted them into moving as she hurried towards the wall, aware that they were most vulnerable when they were crossing the space between the wall and the tree line. Even the dark could not provide ample protection from discovery. The others followed her without question because during their earlier reconnaissance she had sighted the two cameras perched on either end of the wall. Miranda had tested it as best she could, determining where the blind spot was and there was one because the cameras were placed too far at each edge. It was assumed that it the wall did not require more protection then that since there were five men guarding it at all times. However, now that those men were dead, she knew she could move safely without giving themselves away.

They crossed the space quickly, keeping in pace with Miranda who was leading the way. It was difficult to cross the distance with what they carried but with no idea of what lay within the confines of the mansion, it had been a necessary precaution. She carried with her some things the others did not know about because she was certain that they would be uncomfortable if they she had told them. It was Jason’s tenure in the military that allowed him to understand her actions and she felt most at ease with him. Apparently, Merry the hobbit had been instrumental in helping Eowyn kill the Witch King of Angmar, the Nazgul that now hated her with such passion. Despite herself, Miranda was pleased for his presence.

Reaching the wall, they stood pressed with their back against it as they waited for a moment for any indication that they were discovered. After a few seconds, Elladan spoke out.

"They are unaware of us," he said quietly. "I do not hear any sound that might indicate otherwise although the darkness from this place is very disconcerting."

"Yes," Elrohir nodded. "There is great evil here."

"Perfect," Eric grumbled.

"Quiet," Miranda barked as she looked up at the wall upon turning to face it. Jumping up, she caught the edge and climbed over it in one graceful movement, surprised by how much of the training remained buried within her psyche even after all these years. There was ache in her limbs from the climb and she longed for the days where she would hardly notice it but a decade was a long time, no matter how much stayed with her.

Surveying the grounds as far as her vision would allow, she was able to assess the situation thanks to the dim illumination of outdoor lighting scattered over the manicured lawns. Like any mansion, this one had its walks and gardens, no doubt heralding back to its past where ladies and gentleman strolled languidly through the paths because the highborn had really nothing better to do. However, she was grateful to see the bodies had yet to be discovered and no alarm was raised. In truth, barely a few minutes had passed since they been killed.

"Coast is clear, the rest of you up now," she ordered and swung her other leg over the top of the wall and allow herself to drop gently onto the grass.

The elves were quick to join her over the ledge followed by the humans who were hindered somewhat by their packs but managed to perform just as adequately. Miranda did not issue them any order when they were crouched low at the base of the wall. She glanced briefly at her companions and nodded before hurrying forward, not looking back because she knew that they would be following her. Making her way to where the bodies had fallen, she preferred to keep them out of sight for the time being. Even though it was likely that anyone who investigated would notice the gaping whole in security left by the disappearance of these guards, they would hesitate in raising the alarm for a few minutes while they tried to discern what had happened. She counted on buying little more than a few minutes but she knew how much those minutes could count when the alarm was raised.

"We need to hide the bodies," she said to the others when they reached her while pulling one body towards a nearby hedge.

With five of them engaged in the effort, it was not long before the handiwork was concealed and Miranda took the lead again towards the house.

There were numerous points of entry into the building itself for many of the doors were French doors that ran along every wall in the structure. A walkway surrounded the outer wall and supported the upper level with white marble columns. Miranda peered through the glass and saw no movement within. This did not surprise her because they had not acted until they saw the black cars leaving the mansion estate in order to keep the appointment with Frank. Miranda tried not to think of her husband or the terrible risks he was facing by playing decoy but there was no other way to save their children and for that, no peril was too great.

"Everything is quiet in there," Eric remarked to no one in particular.

"There are many here," Elladan declared, his senses penetrating the walls as if he could see through them, "I can feel their darkness but there is something not right."

"What do you mean?" Jason asked anxiously.

"They are here but also not quite here," Elrohir added, his own brow showing his concern. He looked at the structure and knew the danger was not emanating from the building. Slowly, his eyes drifted as he deepened his concentration, trying to use his senses to find an answer.

  
"They are below," Elladan exclaimed with a start.

"What?" Eric stared.

"They are below," Elrohir declared, agreeing with his twin that this was what felt odd. "It is logical, if this is Celebdil, the peak above the kingdom of the dwarves, then below us is Moria."

"Moria’s caverns are vast," Elladan added much to Miranda’s dismay. "If they were keeping your children then it is possible that the caverns below are where Sam and Pip are being imprisoned."

"We have to be sure," Miranda retorted feeling her heart sink along with the hopes of finding her sons alive.

"A place this big has security cameras everywhere," Eric suggested, the idea coming to him as the others were talking. "There should be a central room where security can monitor all cameras. If we can find one of those, it will give us an idea of whether or not the kids are in the building or in whatever this Moria place is below."

"Alright," Miranda silenced them all with her interjection. "Slight alteration of plans. We find security and see whether Sam and Pip are above ground. If not, we’ll have to find the way down to this place. If you’re right," she glanced at Elladan as she spoke, "if this place was built over Moria then it’s likely that Saeran probably built a way down there from the house itself."

"That’s a big assumption," Jason pointed out.

"We don’t have a choice," Miranda said curtly, "Frank is buying time but its not going to last long. When they work out he’s tricking them, it won’t take long to realize what we’re really up to."

Miranda did not add that when the ruse was discovered, there was every possibility that they could kill Frank out of spite. She could not let that happen without finding Sam and Pip first. Frank had been confident they needed him alive but Miranda was dubious. Still, if the worst came to pass, Miranda was determined that it would not be in vain even if it meant she would die with him.

"I’m tired of this," Miranda said finally and pulled the backpack from her shoulders.

  
"Keep watch," she asked as she began rummaging through it. Elladan and Elrohir reacted immediately because their heightened elven senses made them more capable for the task than anyone present.

"What are you doing?" Jason asked as Miranda found what she was looking for.

"We’re running out of time and we need the information quickly," she answered before she removed her hand from the knapsack and caused Jason’s eyes to widen.

"Is that what I think it is?" He blurted out as she walked to one of the columns and placed the small device against its length.

  
The small black box was a construct of dark metal with a single red light on its surface. Miranda removed the adhesive beneath the object and secured it against the stone. When she was done, she hurried back to her backpack and retrieved another.

"Are you crazy?" Eric stared at her realizing why Jason was so fraught with anxiety at the appearance of the small devices. "I thought we were making a covert entry, you know trying to be quiet?"

"Don’t worry," she said with a little smile as she attached the second device against another column, "it won’t that much a bang."

************

  
Beads of sweat rolled down his skin as he told the driver to take another turn.

He could hear the sounds of growing in discontent within the vehicle as he offered this instruction to the driver and was perfectly aware that his efforts to stall for time was failing fast. They had been driving around the town for almost an hour now and with Frank leading the car through the narrow streets, passing local landmarks as they traveled to the place where the Silmaril was meant to be waiting. His route took him past several tourist haunts such as the Cathedral of St Simon and St Jude built in 1040, a historical chapel, the old town hall known to the locals as Rathaus and even the tower called Zwinger. He knew that eventually he would be found out but Frank had hoped to delay that inevitability as much as possible. He had studied a map of the community earlier on and tried to memorize the route he would force them to travel.

"Are we almost there yet?" Irina asked, her voice full of skepticism as she stared at him.

"Yes," Frank nodded, "we’re very close."

"Then why do we not sense it?" The Nazgul he had come to know as Morgul accused.

"We must be still too far away I suppose," Frank shrugged.

"This is a trick!" Morgul grabbed him by the throat. "What are you doing?"

"LET HIM GO!" Irina ordered. "Kill him and we have no answer!"

The wraith shot her a look of pure venom and released Frank who promptly felt back in his seat coughing hard.

"I tend to believe my associates’ belief this is a ruse," she said once Frank had managed to compose himself. "What are you hiding from us?"

"Nothing," he said ineffectually, "I was taking you to the jewel."

"We are not fools," Irina returned sharply, "it is clear that you are delaying us. From what, allowing your companions to hide it beyond our reach? If so why contact us at all...." her voice drifted as she began to understand.

"TURN THE CAR AROUND!" She shouted. "Take us back to the mansion!"

Frank saw the Nazgul starting to realize what Irina had discovered and lunged for the door of the vehicle, hoping that he could be get past them and escape, even if the car was travelling quite fast. Unfortunately, it was a risk he was never allowed to take because Morgul also moved with surprising speed and slammed him back in place. His body ached despite landing on cushions because the creature’s strength was quite considerable and Morgul had expended a good deal of it to keep him restrained.

"An interesting if somewhat dangerous plan," Irina said with irritation, never expecting they would be foolish enough to invade the mansion to retrieve the children. She had assumed that the ambush would come when they were taken to the Silmaril and the children were produced, not this ludicrous plan to breach the mansion. "Do you think that it would be a simple matter for your wife to lead her band of rabble into the mansion and simply take the children? You underestimate us Professor," she shook her head in disgust. "You think that I would not have taken precautions to hide them beyond your reach?"

Frank’s heart sank when he heard those words and wondered what trap Miranda and the others were walking into. Worst yet, where were the children if they were not at the mansion?

"Where are they?" He demanded no longer caring what happened to him.

"Somewhere you will never find them," Morgul said with sinister glee, "and even if you do. If may not be as pleasant a reunion as you hoped."

************

They sneaked into the house after Eric had displayed the rather interesting talent of being able to pick the door lock. Apparently being a roving journalist required him to enter places that were barred from him to get his story and it was certainly stealthier than Miranda’s own approach which was to break the door in. The doors allowed them entrance into what appeared to be a parlor room of some kind that was fortunately unoccupied at present. Eric supposed that other than the staff, the mansion remained mostly empty until Saeran or one or Irina Sadko chose to take up residence.

  
"How long do we have until those charges go?" Jason asked.

"As long as we want," Miranda said calmly, showing him a small device that had a triggering mechanism on its face. "Its remote."

"Good," Eric replied. "I’m still not happy about blowing things up."

"Do all you humans employ this destructive force so readily?" Elladan asked, still remembering their assault on the Malcolm Building and what Aaron Stone had wrought upon Morgoth and his minions during that battle.

"It works," Miranda replied before she sneaked out of the room with the others following. No doubt the bulk of the security measures for the mansion was dependent on no one breaching the exterior perimeter. Once inside the mansion itself, the only thing they had to worry about were security cameras but they were easy enough to avoid.

"Do you hear anything?" She asked Elrohir as they prepared to emerge from the room. Thanks to the elves’ superior hearing, they were given reasonably ample warning whenever anyone approached. She sighted a shadowy space beneath the sweeping staircase where the front foyer culminated and decided that it was large enough to conceal all of them when the charges were finally detonated.

"Nothing," the elf said confidently. "It is safe to proceed."

"Okay," she glanced over her shoulders, "single file everybody, one after the other, Elladan, you cover our rear. You’ll hear someone coming long before they actually arrive anyway." Miranda replied.

"I am at your disposal my lady," he smiled, admiring her leadership and her keen tactical mind.

"Sure you say that now," she replied, "where were you when I was twenty and a dress size smaller?"

Before Elladan could retort, Miranda darted out of the room, followed swiftly by the others. They made straight for the staircase, their feet making soft sound against the wooden floor as they crossed the distance. Miranda pressed her back against the wall and waited as the others joined her beneath the staircase.

"Everybody," she said producing the detonator in her hand, "brace yourselves."

  
Elladan and Elrohir immediately covered their ears. If the humans could barely stand the roar of explosion, then they would hear it with even greater clarity. Miranda saw Eric drawing a deep breath, while Jason’s spine seemed to stiffen in preparation. For herself, there was little preparation as her finger pushed down on the triggering mechanism.

The explosion that tore through the air, shaking foundations and filling the entire building with such calamitous noise made Miranda covered her ears though it was not quite enough to stop them from ringing. No sooner than the explosion was heard, excited voices began to chatter throughout the structure. Voices and footsteps that coincided into a powerful orchestra of pandemonium that stretched throughout the building as guards and staff hurried to investigate the source of the explosion. Despite the roar from the explosion subsiding, there were still loud noises of debris crumbling against the floor. Miranda assumed that the columns toppling caused this, taking with it the balcony whose weight they supported.

They heard feet stamping down the stairs and shrunk back against the wall underneath the staircase, allowing the shadows to conceal them as men ran past. Elladan who was at the other side of their own column in the dark stepped out as the last of these guards hurried by. Capable of hearing if anyone was following, he emerged just in time to slam his elbow into the face of the straggler who had lost sight of his comrades when they turned the corner. The man had little time to cry out as he fell flat on his back, his head hitting the floor as he held his face in pain.

"Nicely done," Jason commended as Miranda pulled out her handgun and approached the man.

He was still rather disorientated and his nose was bleeding profusely as he clutched it. However, his senses had a sharp return to clarity when she jammed the barrel of her gun into his mouth.

"Where are the children?" She demanded looking very much like a lioness in some African savanna protecting her cubs.

"What?" He stammered through the metal held against his lips.

"Two children, boys!" She repeated herself, cocking the gun. "Where are they!"

"I don’t know!" He gasped.

Miranda clamped her fist around his privates and squeezed hard enough for him to cry out. She did not notice the corresponding wince that rippled across the faces of her male companions.

  
"Again, where are they?" She demanded. "The next time, I ask I won’t be using my fingers but rather this gun. I’ll splatter your balls across this floor if you don’t tell me where they are."

"Christ," Eric shuddered at the thought. "Tell her mate," he insisted. "I’ve seen her do it. It made me sick for a whole week."

Just to make her point clearer, Miranda removed the gun from his mouth and pressed it at the crotch of his pants. "Think hard before you answer or you won’t _ever_  be getting hard again."

"They’re down below!" He shouted in terror.

Men were so predictable, Miranda thought to herself. "Down below where!" She insisted.

"Miranda," Elrohir warned, his senses detecting approaching danger. "We must go!"

"WHERE!" She demanded, shoving the steel even harder against his privates.

"Down this hall!" He burst out in a series of stutters and whimpers. "At the end of it is a lift, it goes down! We’re not allow there but that’s where they’ve been taken by Saeran’s personal guard."

"The Nazgul," Elladan concluded. "He tells the truth Miranda. He fears you too much to lie."

Miranda did not need to be an elf to know that much. She knew fear and she knew when one was experiencing it enough to break. This man in his dark suit was little more than bought muscle, to deal with the tasks that did not require the Nine’s particular talents. In other words, he was a thug.

"My lady," Elrohir exclaimed more insistently, "we must be moving!"

It not longer required elven hearing to realize this because she could hear the pounding footsteps approaching them from afar.

"Get on t moving then," she looked up at the others, "you heard him. At the end of the hall! Go!"

  
Jason and Eric started running first, followed by Elrohir. Miranda leapt to her feet, certain that the injured man from whom she had coerced the information was unlikely to follow.

"Come, " Elladan said, taking her by the arm and steered her past the staircase to the hallway that the thug had indicated.

They hurried down the hallway and saw that Eric and Jason had come to a pause at the end of the hallway where sure enough, there were a set of steels door and a control panel along the side. The lift was the intersection point for two other corridors and appeared clear for the moment. Suddenly, Elladan paused and turned around, his body stiffening into what she recognized as a battle stance.   
  
"Are they close?" She asked.

Her response was met with a hail of bullets exploding in the air. As Miranda jumped to the floor, dragging Elladan with her, she shouted at her companions.

"GET DOWN!"

"Shit!" Eric exclaimed as he saw Miranda and Elladan hitting the floor. He had barely a fraction of a second to do the same before the bullets slammed into the wall and the lift doors behind him. As he remained on the floor, he saw a number of dark suited men heavily arm at the end of the corridor. They were preparing to fire again when suddenly; Miranda raised herself onto her arms and open fire with her own rifle. When she had said that the Heckler & Koch G36K could fire 750 rounds per minute, he had scarcely believed it. However, as the weapon discharged, Eric saw what how effective it was. The barrage was so deadly that it hit the enemy like a wall of bullets. Those who did not retreat up the corridor were cut down fast, their bodies jerking like marionettes before they fell.

  
"Where’s that damned lift!" Jason shouted as he got on his feet and pushed the button again.

"Jason!" Miranda barked in his direction, not an easy thing to do considering how deafening the sounds was. "I need help with suppressing fire! "

The cameraman was already on his knees, slinging his rifle from his shoulder to take aim. Pulling the trigger, they let loose and impenetrable wall of bullets that drove the enemy back. Meanwhile, Elladan and Elrohir were getting to their feet to take point at the other corridor. The twins were rearming their bows when suddenly, Eric saw the appearance of more men in that particular corridor. Without thinking, he raised his weapon to fire, pressing the trigger to let the bullets fly.

  
Nothing happened.

He cursed as his eyes made contact with the enemy, a small smile of triumph stretching across their faces. Time seemed to have slowed to a crawl as he saw Elladan and Elrohir raising their armed bows, in readiness to fire. Eric’s mind swept instantly through the instructions that Miranda had given him in the operation of these guns and fumbled at the weapon briefly before trying again. Pulling the trigger, he was prepared for more disappointment when suddenly, the very opposite happened.

The burst of fire that erupted from the barrel of the gun was so powerful that the recoil made him stagger back slightly. With his fingers still on the trigger, the projectiles cut a swathe through the enemy as the barrage of artillery joined the more elegant arrows in driving back the thugs who would stop them. He saw them tearing through the enemy, while some returned fire themselves. For a few seconds, he did not move as he saw the bodies falling to the floor, their blood spilling from wounds that  _he_  had caused. In the years that he had been reporting the news in some of the most war ravaged places on this earth, he had seen many dead people, their bodies torn apart by bullets and violence.

It was however, the  _first_  time that he had been the cause of it.

He stared in muted silence at the violence he had caused and barely noticed when the lift doors started to slide open. He was still staring at the dead, oblivious to the men still shooting, the arrows that were still cutting their numbers down. Bullets may have outnumbered the arrows but each one met its mark with expert precision unlike the former, which had a wide margin for error during delivery.

"Come on!" He heard Jason shout and turned his head just in time to see his best friend shoving him through the doors. Miranda was keeping the enemy at bay by continuing the barrage while Elladan had fallen back to use one of the ‘special’ arrowheads that they had acquired at Max Voight’s armory.

"Miranda!" Elrohir called to the woman who was relentlessly maintaining an assault of bullets along the hallway they had emerged to ensure no one would get through to them. "Go! My brother and I shall deal with this!"

Miranda saw that his bow was armed with the large, conical arrowheads and nodded briskly, retreating towards the open lift doors as Elrohir took her place and raised his bow to fire. She saw Elladan doing the same at the other corridor and lowered her weapon to enter the lift.

"Fire in the hole!" She screamed at Eric and Jason to take cover as the Elrohir released the bowstring and let the arrows fly. Once the arrow was on the way, both elves turned on their heels and raced into the lift to join the rest of their companions. Miranda jammed her finger against the one of three buttons on their lift to send it on its way.

One of the arrows hit a body, the other the wall. The explosions that followed in quick succession caused the walls to shake as columns of fire came rushing at them from the blast. The lift doors closed within seconds of the fireball reaching them and their ears were momentarily deafened by the noise as they felt themselves begin to move.

No one could speak for a few moments after. The memory of bodies, bullets and heat had left a parting impression on all of them. They looked at each other, feeling bonds already deep, solidify even more after the battle they had just fought together.

  
"Everybody alright?" Miranda asked after a moment, breaking the silence as the lift continued on its way. "Anybody hurt?"

"No," Jason said automatically but looked at Eric in concern.

The newsman was still somewhat stunned by the fact that he had spilled blood and Jason could tell. Jason had been apart of the peacekeeping forces in Bosnia during the tail end of the UN administration of the country and had been one of the helicopter pilots bringing in wounded and supplies. He still remembered how it felt when he was forced to defend himself against the enemy. Taking a life was no small thing and contributed greatly to his reasons for leaving the service. While he could kill if required, Jason did not have it in him to make a career out of it.

"You okay?" Jason asked Eric quietly, aware that his friend had endured some severe emotional battery the past few days, first with Dominique’s death and now at having to kill for the first time.

"I’m fine," Eric answered meeting Jason’s gaze with a slight nod. "I just never had to do it before, being the places we’ve been makes it look so easy but it isn’t, is it?"

"It is no small thing to take a life and end all it will ever be," Elrohir said with similar sympathy. "You did what was necessary."

"Absolutely," Miranda said putting her hand on Eric’s face, "look, I don’t have time to make this better for you. Its kill or be killed at the moment. I know its not bloody fair and in this day and age, we should be able to talk it out but the truth is the world is not like that and you know it. You’ve seen it enough in the places you’ve been. I know this is harsh but right now, I need you to get over it because we don’t have a choice. You can’t hesitate where we’re going, not for one second. If anything tries to stop you, you put a bullet in them and worry about the morality of it later."

"My lady," Elladan started to interject, "he has not acquired the calluses that came from battle experience."

"I know that," she met his gaze and Eric saw her eyes softened. "I can see for myself how much this hurts you and I wish there was some other way but there isn’t. Frank is up there, playing Russian roulette with the devil so that we can get to the boys. We have no idea what’s waiting for us where we’re going but I have to know are you up to doing what’s necessary."

"I am," he said firmly and with more conviction than he thought he possessed. "Dominique died because of these bastards. I won’t stand by and let the same happen to your boys."

Miranda smiled and lowered her weapon briefly to embrace him. "Thank you," she said softly in his ear, "I’m proud to be your sister, Eric."

He returned her smile with the same sentiment, "I’ll remind you of that later if I stuff things up,"

************

Like his companions in the car, Frank saw the smoke rising above the tree line as they approached David Saeran’s mansion estate. The tension in the vehicle was already thick enough to slice with a blade as Irina had been unsuccessfully attempting to contact her people at the estate to warn them of the intruders that were going to invade the domain. She had been largely unsuccessful and as the cloud of thick, dark smoke loomed larger in the window, Frank could understand why. It appeared that things were progressing more or less according to plan thanks to Miranda.

"This means nothing," Irina glared at him. "Your wife can reduce this building to rubble and it still won’t lead her to your children."

Frank did not answer because he was thinking up his own means of escape. Of course he was powerless in the car, trapped in such close confines with the Nazgul. However, once they emerged from the vehicle, he would make the attempt. The Nazgul did not see him as a threat and had not searched him when the forced him into the car. They most likely believed his vocation as an archaeologist ensured that he would know very little about guns and how to use them. In truth, they were not far wrong. He still felt uncomfortable about the weapon he had hidden under his shirt that kept reminding him of its presence by whenever he leaned back into the cushioned seat of the vehicle. However, Miranda had insisted he carry a gun for this rendezvous and had shown him briefly how to fire one.

"I look forward to meeting your wife again," Morgul added, attempting to break through the man’s determined resolve. "She and I have unfinished business."

"Unfinished?" He looked at Morgul, "I don’t see how you consider it unfinished since she killed you. Looks pretty settled to me."

"You know nothing!" Morgul snapped angrily. "The shield bitch had prophecy behind her. I could not be slain by men. For two thousand years I lived, bringing Black Death to all and I will not see that end because some upstart female had the audacity to stand in the field of battle like men. This time, when we meet it will not be I who are slain. It will be she and I will put aside this vile chapter of my existence."

"Good luck," Frank said skeptically as the car made the last leg of its journey towards the mansion.

As they approached, he could see a part of the mansion was on fire, a length of balcony had fallen away and there was a gaping hole in the series of columns beneath it. Some of the balcony had broken off entirely, creating a pile of debris beneath it. The rest of it was clinging to stay in place but gravity was working hard against it. Fire was burning through that section of the mansion and there were people scurrying back and forth trying to bring the destruction to some measure of control.

"When you find them," Irina uttered tautly to Morgul, "kill her first."

"Of that there will be no doubt," Morgul said turning to Frank with what the archaeologist was certain was a gloating sneer.

The car came to a halt in front of the main entrance to the mansion with Irina stepping out first, followed by Frank and the Nazgul in tow. Frank saw the others emerging from the vehicle as he climbed out of the vehicle, trying to decide his next course of action. He could not let himself be taken hostage to be used as leverage for blackmail against Miranda and the others. By the looks of it, Miranda was causing enough damage to give him the impression that she had some plan at work, plans he did not want to complicate by his capture.

  
A narrow window of opportunity presented itself to him as he saw Irina before him and though it was risky, he knew he had to make the attempt. If he did not, Frank was not sure when the chance would come again. Taking a deep breath, he slid his arm around her throat and pulled out the gun. In one swift movement that surprised him by its execution, Frank pressed the barrel of the gun against her head and forced her around to face the rather surprised Nazgul.

"Release me!" She demanded.

"Step away from the car!" Frank ignored her and shouted at the Nazgul who were producing their own weapons in response to his actions.

"What do you hope to accomplish?" Irina said in turn, her tone a mixture of impatience and anger but no real fear. "You know as well as I do, that you won’t kill me."

"Don’t be so sure," Frank shoved the gun harder against her temple, "you’ve taken my children! You’ve killed my friend. I’m entitled to a little vengeance!"

"Morgul," Irina glared at the Witch King standing before them both. "Do something and make it fast. We really don’t have time for this."

The Witch King assessed the situation before him and glanced at his brothers who knew his mind and agreed silently as to their next course of action.

"It is true," the Nazgul answered in a slow deliberating voice, "we do not have time to deal with this. The only thing of importance is the retrieval of our lord."

With that, he promptly raised his gun and fired.

The bullet slammed into Irina’s left eye, splattering Frank with blood, flesh and grey matter as he staggered backward when the discharge was made. He released her in stunned shock, watched her body fall to the ground trailing blood and making a sickly sound when she landed on the back of her ruined skull. Frank looked up at Morgul in astonishment, unable to believe the Nazgul had killed the woman whom he had believed to be his master.

"That was most satisfying," Morgul answered. "I have waited a long while to do that. I should thank you for the opportunity to do away with that meddlesome piece of flesh."

"You killed her," Frank stammered unable to comprehend why.

"No," Morgul shook his head and answered triumphantly. " _You_  killed her or at least that is what our lord will be told when he returns."

Frank started to understand and did not resist when the Nazgul reached him and dragged him towards the house.


	15. The Deep Places of the World

Beyond the edge of the world, Fred Bailey dreamed.

She dreamed of climbing a mountain that spewed ash and burning embers against her skin while her hands and knees were cut to ribbons over rocks that were almost transformed by the heat into glass.  She dreamed of hopelessness, of despair that reached into the soul and crushed her spirit like a vice. She dreamt of giving up.  And she might have if not for the voice that kept her moving, that forced her on her feet to cross the terrible places of her dreams, to ensure that she never forgot that there was a purpose to the pain. She dreamed of it constantly these days, ever since she had come to Valinor and was at last freed from the terrible whispers of the dark one who was now a prisoner beyond anyone's reach.

Sometimes, she almost remembered what he looked like, this other in her dreams that was not the dark lord that had plagued from her birth. When she thought of him, she was filled with warmth and affection, a feeling so powerful it sometimes overwhelmed her and she knew even if she never met him, that their friendship was the stuff of legends because together, they had changed the world.

She revealed nothing of these dreams to her parents who were really very new at the whole concept of caring for her and tried hard, much to her amusement, to be things she needed. Fred wished she had the words to explain to them that though they were not her parents who were murdered in their Cardiff home, they were very much her universe and she could not imagine her life without them. When she was in their arms, she felt safe and knew for a fact that both would do anything to ensure her protection.  They had come to this magical place because of her, Fred was certain. They never said it but she could tell by the glimmer in their eyes. They wanted her to forget the darkness that had blighted her young life and as much as she wished she could do that for them, it was a part of her now. 

Tonight she dreamed about him again but this time, he was not helping her through the darkness. It appeared that he was the one running, trying to outdistance the black cloud following him. He was panting hard, looking over his shoulder, trying to escape but it continued its pursuit relentlessly. It would run him into the ground before it would let him go and as she watched from a distance, she knew that it would catch him if she did not find some way to help.

Fred woke up shortly after dawn. Their house by the sea in the city of Tirion was quiet and Fred knew that Tory would still be asleep. Byran had gone with Aaron and Legolas to see the great fortress at Formenos built by someone called Feanor and would be back tomorrow. Bryan had been very excited about it as he always with anything to do with fighting; she had come to realize. 

Thus clad in her nightgown, holding the doll given to her by Ariel, Legolas wife, Fred made her way across the house to Tory's bedroom aware that she would not be intruding if Bryan weren’t there. She had learnt _that_ lesson well enough from her parents.   The morning breeze moved across her skin as she walked through the house because the elves had built the building with many windows.  Fred liked it very much because it was always sunny and warm inside its confines and the windows had beautiful views of mountains and the sea.

She reached Tory’s door and twisted the doorknob, noting the almost silent breathing of her foster mother as she slept.  Tory was used to having Fred slip into the bed with her, especially when Bryan was gone or whenever she had a bad dream. While they were nowhere in the intensity she used to experience when she still lived at home with her parents, Fred sometimes still did have the occasional childhood night.  Of course none of those dreams compared to the deep sense of foreboding that had prompted her to rise from her bed in this morning. 

Upon entering the room, she saw Tory in a fitful sleep and regretted having to wake the woman who had been the closest thing she knew to a mother since her own had been killed by those terrible monsters, _Black Riders_ , she called them secretly.  Climbing up onto the mattress supported by a large wooden bed, designed with ornate carvings that sometimes lulled her to sleep, Fred shook Tory awake who had yet to notice her presence.

“Tory,” she said quietly, shaking her arm.

Tory stirred but did not awake.

“Tory,” Fred tried again, a little harder this time.

Her efforts were not in vain as Tory rolled over in the bed to face her. Forcing her eyes open, she gazed at Fred after a moment of disorientation.

  
“What’s the matter darling,” Tory said propping herself up on one elbow and brushing Fred’s hair out of her face. “Another bad dream.”

“We have to go see the lady,” Fred replied.

“The lady?” Tory’s brow wrinkled in confusion. “Which lady?”

“Eve’s Nan,” Fred explained.

“Eve’s Nan?” Tory looked at her, “you mean Galadriel?”

Fred nodded. “We have to see her.”

“Why?” Tory had long stopped being surprised by anything Fred said to her.  Thanks to Saeran’s connection with the child since birth, Fred had insights that were almost elven in their accuracy.

“He needs my help,” Fred said after a moment, “the Black Riders have found him.”

“Who’s he?” the older woman asked again, deciding that this was a conversation that needed her to be infused with caffeine first.

“The boy,” she insisted. “The other Ringbearer.”

*************

 

There was an absurd moment when Eric Rowan thought he was back where this had all started; taking a long ride on a lift into nowhere.

  
Of course there was no pert young lady talking about the find of a lifetime as they descended into the depths of an icy cavern, only the steel walls of lift whose shaft seemed endless.  They had been descending a good three minutes now and Eric wondered just how far into the earth they had gone.  Everyone was silent as the time in the lift stretched out and with Miranda’s words still lingering in his ear, Eric knew that for the first time in his life, he wasn’t chasing a story because he was apart of it.

The elves seemed anxious and even though they did not say it out loud, Eric guessed the sense of danger they had felt outside the walls of the Celebdil estate had increased.  Eric shuddered to think what was awaiting them once they reached the end of their journey and hoped that ammunition would be enough to stop it.  He also hoped for Miranda’s sake that her children were unharmed. 

Much of Miranda’s resolve had its foundations in her desire to retrieve them, like any mother would he supposed. He had never seen the maternal instinct up close like this and he had to admit that like all the men present, save Frank, it was rather overwhelming. He wondered if all mothers were like this, built with a genetic desire to sacrifice and to do everything possible to protect their children.

“I wonder how far we’re going?” Jason asked, breaking the silence.

“If this Moria,” Elladan replied, “deep indeed.”

“This Moria,” Miranda looked at him, “you’ve been here before?”

“No,” the elf shook his head, “it was forbidden to us for many years because of the creature the dwarves unleashed in the course of their mining. It slew many and drove the rest away. With the aid of the goblins, they ruled in Moria for a long time until the Fellowship passed through here during the Quest of the Ring.”

“We elves do not much care for seeing the deep places of the world,” Elrohir volunteered and gave the others some idea as to the reason for his anxiety. “Too many things exist in the dark, far older than goblins.  Morgoth ruled Arda for aeons before our people awoke at the Mere of Cuineven. Many still live, sleeping in the shadows waiting for the time to awaken.”

  
“Okay,” Eric broke in, “let’s keep a little optimism here,” he looked at his companions before falling silent when they suddenly felt the mechanism that controlled their descent groaned dully above them, indicating a change in its operation.  They were going to stop, Eric thought to himself, instinctively raising his gun and questioning himself a second later, when he had started relying on a weapon so much.

There was little time to debate the issue when the lift came to a halt with a slight jarring motion that left them all staggering slightly. Miranda took the lead as always and she did it so naturally that none of the men in their company felt the need to stop her.  Although Elladan and Elrohir had more combat experience than all of them could ever dream to have, the elves seemed content to let Miranda dictate their actions because she had earned their respect as a warrior.

“Whatever happens, we stay together. Everybody keep an eye on each other.  If this place is as big as Elladan and Elrohir say it is, we do not want to get lost.”

“That is for certain,” Elladan remarked, not at all happy to be in the deep like this. He had not lied when he said that elves found it exceedingly uncomfortable to be so far away from the stars.

No one had opportunity to add further because the doors chose than moment to slide open. The five companions in the lift immediately stiffened with the same sense of purpose with weapons drawn and eyes alert and searching.

Dim light cast a faint shadow upon them all when the doors parted finally, revealing a passageway through rock leading away from the lift.  Miranda stepped out first, her gun barrel leading the way as she emerged in the corridor carved from solid rock, taking note of the torches along its walls.  She listened closely and heard no sound, just a long, reaching silence that snaked through the corridor into beyond.  She emerged cautiously, her body poised for attack as she took another step and then another, until the lift doors were behind her and the others were following closely with abated breath. There was only one path away from the lift and as she studied the walls, she realized that time or erosion did not weather this passage.

It had been carved.

“They made this,” Miranda announced.  “This isn’t natural.”

“Saeran’s had God only knows how long to dig this out,” Eric agreed over her shoulder, coming to the same conclusion.

“At least four hundred years,” Elladan pointed out.

“Four hundred years?” Jason looked at him briefly.

  
“That is only an estimation on when Morgoth may have chosen to resurrect him,” Elrohir said helpfully.

Miranda was not listening because she was too intent on reaching the end of this passage. They were too vulnerable in here and as they moved along in, she somewhat realized that was the point of the whole exercise.  Saeran had built this corridor for a good reason. It was most likely the only way to the surface and easily defendable.  Put a large enough force at the end of this entrance and no one would be coming out.

Behind her, Elladan, son of Elrond, felt his skin tingle in dread. As it was, this underworld was exuding such evil it was often difficult to breathe. He caught a glimpse of his brother and knew that Elrohir felt the same dread. He wondered how Legolas had felt being here during the quest. Did it strike fear into his heart as profoundly as Elladan’s own was pounding in his chest?  Now the evil was not just overwhelming, it was creeping towards him as if it had legs, moving through the dark on a rapid approach. It was rushing up to meet them and as he stared at the darkness further down the passage, he knew that it awaited them there.

“My lady,” Elladan spoke with a hushed voice. “We are not alone.”

Miranda did not falter in her steps even though she sensed the others tensing behind her, “are you sure?”

“Yes,” he nodded. “I can feel its presence.”

“Its?” Eric asked, “as in one or many?”

Elladan paused, searching the feeling that was clawing over his skin like wet slime, “I cannot be certain.”

“Nor can I,” Elrohir added, giving his brother a look of sympathy because he understood all too well what Elladan was referring.

The feeling that the twins had voiced was now becoming something tangible as they pressed deeper into the passage.  They head it first and even without voice it to the others, they knew that what waited for them at the end of the tunnel was many. 

In the words of humankind, it was legion.

************

 

For the first time since this nightmare had begun, Pip realised he had to do something.

Before this moment, he had been too afraid to do anything.  Fear had caught him in its grip and twisted his insides into a thousands knots. When he had seen the horror of what lurked within the dark shadows of this place, his mind had almost been destroyed by the fright.  It would have been so easy to remain hidden with the corners of his mind, taking comfort in the bliss of unknowing.  However, a sharp scream had shattered the walls of this deceptive safe haven and now Pip found himself being the strong one while his brother faltered.

Sam was lying on the floor; his body bunched up like a baby, whimpering.  When Pip put his hand against his brother’s skin, he felt heat and moisture at once. He remembered how he felt when he was sick and knew without doubt that Sam was suffering from some unspeakable malady caused by the wound that the monster had inflicted upon him. Pip knew without understanding completely, that his brother was dying from more than just a wound.  As Sam struggled and whimpered, despite Pip’s efforts to comfort him, Pip knew that there was more happening to Sam then he could see on the surface.

“Sam,” Pip said shaking his brother, hoping to snap him out of his delirium. “You have to wake up. Mummy and daddy are coming. You have to be awaken when they come, so you can tell me what to do.”

Sam muttered something, his eyes were closed but the fear on his face told Pip most certainly that wherever he was, Sam was beyond hearing him.  Pip straightened up, trying to keep himself from crying because he need to be brave and think of a way out of their situation. It was always up to Sam to do these things but Pip had come to the realization that for once, the duty was his alone.  For the first time since they had been incarcerated in the stone cell, Pip took a closer look at their confinement and made the same discoveries as Sam.  He studied the stone bars that kept them trapped, the Uruk Hai creature that was standing guard at the entrance of the cavern, ensuring those terrible monsters he had seen devour one of their own did not find their way to Sam and him.

It was the bars that held most interest for Pip however, as he crawled slowly towards them. The Uruk looked over his shoulder at the small boy and Pip found himself freezing in terror as the beast regarded him.  For a moment, Pip did not dare to breathe, uncertain of what the beast’s attention on him would be. The Uruk growled in his guttural language, the way a bitch dog would snap at her pups to behave.  Pip shrank back but did not retreat to the shadows. Content with his response, the Uruk faced front again and Pip found himself releasing another breath before he crawled forward once more, this time even more carefully.

He reached the bars and saw that they were stone, carved out of a large slab of rock no doubt. The only thing that was not apart of the whole was the door and he knew there was no way to breach it. However, the bars were stone but polished enough to appear somewhat even in its surface. He kept his eyes fixed on the Uruk as he pressed his head against the bars, having come to the conclusion that Sam had probably realized he was too big to slip through. Fortunately, Pip was smaller than his brother was and slender enough to fit even if it was a tight squeeze. Given time, he could work out of this cage. The problem however, was not in getting out but rather what to do once he was out.  There was no way he could slip past the Uruk Hai at the mouth of the cavern and it was too dark for him to see if there was an alternate way out of it. 

As he was pondering the situation, something unexpected took place.

Another of the beasts appeared and paused before the former. For a few seconds, the cavern was filled with the sounds of their harsh speech, words that Pip did not understand flying back and forth like insults instead of conversation.  The Uruk cast their yellowed eyes at him; their voices filled with an emotion that almost sounded like indecision.  Finally, their guard broke away from his new companion and strode towards the cage.  Pip scrambled back to Sam’s side out of habit even though his brother was in no condition to help him.

“You,” the Uruk glared through the bars at Pip, his teeth bared. “You will stay here. You will not move from this place.”

Pip nodded furiously, too terrified to do much else.

“I am going for a time,” the Uruk barked gruffly. “I will not be gone long and if you choose to escape, I can find you. I know your scent, young meat. If you try to escape, I will find you and then I split open your brother’s belly and make you eat of him, do you understand?”

Pip almost burst into tears from the imagery but nodded in understanding instead.

“Good,” the Uruk straightened up; content that he had put the fear of darkness into the child’s spirit with his warning. “Remember,” he added finally before he turned away, “there is more here than just what you see.  There are things lurking in the dark that will eat you with one swallow and give little thought to you while you disappearing down its gullet. Stay here, you will live longer.”

With that, he turned and walked away, joined by his companions, leaving Sam and Pip alone.

For a long time, Pip lost count of just how long he had stayed in his place, paralyzed by fear of the creature’s warning but as his fear subsided somewhat, he remembered that Sam was hurt very badly. He needed help and he needed it soon. Pip thought of what the creature had warned the threat to kill Sam if he tried to escape and then recalled what his brother had said about their captors needing them alive.  They wanted dad to do something, something very important and they needed Sam and he alive to make daddy do it for them.

No, they couldn’t be harmed, yet, not until daddy did what he had to.

With this logic in place, Pip took a deep breath, calmed his racing heart and approached the bars again.  He pressed his head to the gap and fell the strain of unmovable rock as he forced his way through. Twisting his body sideways, he pushed as hard as he could, feeling pain coursing through his skull as his head struggled through the barrier.  He could feel the stone scraping his skin, the flesh being eroded away until there was the slick moisture of blood.  He grunted in pain, biting down so hard he could taste blood in his mouth and just when he thought he could stand it no more, he felt something give way and suddenly, he was through.

His head throbbed terribly and he could feel blood but he had slipped his head through and once that obstacle had been breached, it became a simple matter of twisting his body around to pass through the rest of the way.  When Pip was finished in this little maneuver, he found himself staring through the bars at Sam.  His brother had not noticed his departure, the delirium had robbed Sam too much of his faculties for that.  Pip wished he could reach Sam and hold his hand but for him to do that, he would have to enter the cage again and his head was too tender to make the attempt again so soon.

“I’m going to get help Sam,” Pip said softly. “I promise I’m going to come back as soon as I find mummy and daddy. Once they come back with me, they’ll know how to help you.  Mummy will make it better,” he replied with growing resolve, “you’ll see.”

Sam did not register his vow and Pip could only stand there briefly, praying that his brother would still be alive when he returned.  However, the moment to linger was brief because he had to get moving.

Somehow, he had to get help.

***********

When the Nazgul had killed the woman in front of him, Frank came to the dreadful realization that these creatures were too much for him.

It was quite a sobering experience comprehending one’s own weakness in the face of overwhelming darkness and considering that he was still wearing much of Irina Sadko’s brain matter on his clothes, he supposed he was handling rather well.  He had not anticipated the cold ruthlessness of the Nazgul, not even when they had killed Hans.  He had not thought them capable of such malevolence but now he knew better and despaired because it drove home deeply, how real the possibility had become that he would never see Miranda and the children again.

The thought of them was the only thing that kept his sanity in place, knowing that while he was in the clutches of the Nazgul; his wife would have some chance of retrieving their children.  Sometimes, the best thing a father could do for his family was to simply die and he had a sense that this was that moment for him.  He had been so stunned by the woman’s death that he had allowed them to drag him into the house, certain that he was bound for torture and some other grisly fate in their efforts to regain control of the artifact.

Stop thinking like an archaeologist Frank, he rebuked himself silently, it’s not an artifact, it’s the Silmarils.

  
However, they did not plan on torturing him yet and when his senses started to pay attention to where they were taking him, he took stock of the destruction to the building. A side of the building was billowing in flames, a gaping whole in the fine architecture of the mansion. Mortar and brick were crumbling amidst the flames and Frank found himself savoring some satisfaction in knowing that Miranda had caused all this destruction.

“Where are you taking me?” He demanded as they took him down a long corridor. The walls of the passage was charred black and riddled with bullet holes. Some parts of the wall had actually buckled in with heat and the paint had burned into the stone.  He saw bodies strewn about, some torn apart by bullets, while others had found their end by the way of arrows.   It was clear that Miranda and the others had been through this passage recently.

“You wish to see your sons,” the Nazgul hissed. “I am taking you to them.”

This should have pleased Frank but somehow, it did not.

“Why?” Frank asked.

“Be grateful that you will see them,” Morgul responded snidely, relishing the smile the human could not see. 

It had given Morgul considerable pleasure to devise his method of vengeance, so much sweeter than actually killing the whelp. He delighted in the simplicity of it and knew that even if this human did give up the Simaril, his child would never be the same again. And it had given Morgul great pleasure to turn one of the hated ringbearers into a wraith. After all, it was because of that accursed hobbit that the Master had been destroyed and banished to the void and they were similarly doomed to endure the shadow world like mists without form or power.  This way, he would have his vengeance not only against the enemy of his master but ensure that the shield bitch would find suffer as intolerably as he when he was sent to his death by her blade.

Oh yes, it would a sweet revenge indeed.

***********

 

Sam was in a very odd place.

He had been running across a place with sharp stones under his feet and hard rocks in his way, trying to escape the darkness that chasing him like all the hounds of hell unleashed.  He ran until he could not breathe, until his heart was pounding so hard in his chest that it felt like it was going to explode. He knew they were back there those things, those black riders. However, Sam knew that this was no dream he would wake up from and this time, they would him down until he was caught or died with exhaustion. 

He could feel the rocks cutting his feet, could feel the moisture of sweat against his brown and he was panting as if like a ton of bricks was pressing down on his chest, refusing to let his breath escape. He looked over his shoulder and he could hear them, thundering hooves, black robes flowing against the twilight evening. He did not know how long he could keep running, how long before this burning pain in his shoulder would finally be the end of him. He ran as fast as he could and still, they were following. He would die in this dream without ever waking up.

Then suddenly, without warning, he had run into a place that was not at all sharp rocks and darkness. It was a nice place, a home, warm and comfortable. The windows were round and there were books piled in corners. He could feel heat coming from a warm fireplace, a kettle poised on ancient looking stove with wisp of steam escaping the spout. It looked familiar but he could not remember how it was familiar, only that he been here before somewhere.

“Hello Sam,” a voice said behind him.

Sam turned around and saw what he thought was another child because the person was small like him. However as he looked closer, he knew that this stranger with locks of dark hair and powerful blue eyes was no child but rather a man, an adult.

“You have questions Sam,” the stranger smiled, “I wish I could answer them all but we don’t have a great deal of time I’m afraid.”

“Who are you?” Sam asked his voice soft and ragged from running.

  
“I am you best friend,” the stranger smiled back, “and you are my Sam. It’s taken a great deal for me to get here Sam, to find you in all this darkness. It wasn’t for Galadriel, I would never be able to manage it at all.  When we see each other again, we won’t know one another like we do now but that’s all right, that’s how its supposed to be.  I knew you were in trouble Sam and I had to find you, I had to tell you must FIGHT. You cannot give into them.”

“Them?” Sam replied blankly and just a he did, a shadow seemed to fall over the warmth of the room. Amber light dissipated in place of indigo evening.

The stranger looked around, concern looming over his face before he regarded Sam again. “The End of Days is almost here Sam and I will need you for what is coming. I know you’re tired and I know you want to rest but you have to keep running. Help is coming, I can feel it even if you can’t. You were always stronger than I, stronger than anyone possibly believed you could be so you must stay ahead of them.”

“You’re the other,” Sam exclaimed in a moment of revelation. The other at whose side was his place in the world. This was the missing part of himself he had been searching, the bond that was more than friendship or love, it was more than human emotion, and it was timeless like the filaments that made the universe a living whole.   “Next to you is where I’m supposed to be.”

“Yes,” the stranger smiled, “we know each other Sam, in this life and the one before.  We have lots to talk about but not now, a whole lifetime is waiting for us but you must keep ahead of them.  I know it’s hard, I know how much pain you’re in but you must fight to stay alive.  Our time is growing short, this place is going to disappear soon but know that I’m with you, know that I believe in you just as you always ensured that I could go on because you believed in me. We will survive this. Do you understand? We will survive this together.”

“Yes,” Sam nodded and it was true, he could feel the other’s strength reinforcing his own, filling his wounded spirit with hope and determination.  It was the stuff that could move mountains.

  
“We changed the world together Sam,” the other said placing a hand on his shoulder. “You may not remember but we did.  What you and I accomplished together is the stuff of legends so you must believe me when I say to you that no matter how terrible they are, you are stronger.”

Sam nodded as the windows began to shake and the light in the fireplace diminished. A great rushing sound ripped apart the walls in an instant and took with the house and all the warmth within it.  Sam blinked and saw the other was gone, leaving him alone in the barren wasteland once again.  The sound of thundering hooves broke through the wail of the wind and Sam drew in a deep breath and knew what he had to do. 

He had to run and he had to keep running until help came. 

He was strong enough. He wouldn’t give up.

***********

There were moments when one’s first impulse was usually the right course of action in an unexpected situation. It required no thinking, no question or doubt, just action.

When Miranda caught her first glimpse of Uruk Hai, she knew that this was one of those moments.

There were so many of them she could hardly take count but her first impulse was to pull the trigger and drive them back.  She could not tell by the dim light of the enormous room they had entered whether or not the Uruks were armed but Miranda was certain they were.  There was a brief pause as both parties recognize each other and the battle line that had suddenly been drawn between them. It was little more than a second in real time but the rapid-fire explosion of bullets escaping Miranda’s gun signaled its end.

“Get back!” She shouted as her bullets caused the enemy to scatter behind the great pillars the size of redwood trees within the room. 

They shrank back into the corridor as the returning gunfire smashed into the wall where they had been standing.  Fragments of stone and mortar went flying about in all directions, creating a mist of debris that followed them back down the passage.

“We’re hemmed in,” Jason cursed as they were forced to retreat.

“Like hell we are!” Miranda snapped and pulled out the handgun tucked in her jeans.  “When I give the signal, the both of you run! I think I saw an entry way towards the far left.  Get in there and cover us.”

“What are you going to do!” Jason demanded over the sound of gunfire.

“We’re not waiting for them to come get us,” she said gruffly. “We’re getting through. Elladan, Elrohir, come with me.”

The two elven brothers followed Miranda without question as she strode up the hallway again.

“What do you intend?” Elrohir asked first.

“I want you to use those explosive tipped arrows of yours,” she said as the others followed her, her voice growing louder as they returned to the end of the corridor where the bullets were still exploding. “I saw columns, many of them. Those things are hiding behind them.  Shoot at them.”

“Shoot them!” He exclaimed. “Are you mad?”

“Don’t worry,” Miranda retorted. “I saw the size of those columns, you don’t have the fire power to bring them down but those Uruks don’t know that and they might withdraw to keep us from trying. Its only to give us enough time to get past them.”

The elf looked at her dubiously but supposed that she knew the explosive capability of these arrowheads better than he did. Also, Miranda had led them this far and their skins were attached to their bodies so he trusted that she knew what she was doing. 

“I will aim first,” Elladan looked at his brother. “We will do it in succession.”

Elrohir nodded in agreement. “I wait for you.”

Miranda looked over her shoulder at Jason and Eric as the elves were deciding their strategy. “As soon as we start shooting, you two make for that entrance! We’ll need you to cover us when we make the attempt.”

“You can count on us,” Jason declared firmly.

“We’ll watch your back,” Eric added his voice to the mix.

The gunfire was digging into the stone surface, spraying sharp fragments and dust through the air as they inched closer to the edge.  Miranda took the lead, handgun and assault rifle in each hand. She could hear nothing but loud explosion of gunfire ripping up the air and knew that she had to wait until the right moment to act.  Bullets were not an infinite resource and she knew that with the amount of ammunition the enemy was discharging, it would only be a matter of time before they had the break they needed.

“Hold until I say,” Miranda warned. Elladan and Elrohir may have been immortal but they had little experience with gunplay and Eric was a complete novice.  Thank goodness for Jason, she thought to herself when suddenly she heard a slight pause and knew that it was time to act.

“GO!” She ordered just before she started shooting with both guns blazing. Creating a wall of bullets that somewhat protected Jason and Eric as they bolted into the fray, the two men hurried through the open space.  Elladan and Elrohir were already releasing their bowstrings, sending their explosive tipped arrows in the great pillars behind which many of the Uruks were taking cover. She still couldn’t get an accurate number of how many there were but the bullets she was firing ferociously ensured that Jason and Eric could make their way across the floor relatively unharmed. Thanks to the efficiency of the weapon in her hand, those 750 rounds per minute proving to extremely useful in keeping the enemy at bay momentarily.

However, they were nowhere as useful as the customized arrowheads that Elladan and Elrohir were using.

Apparently they had expertise with these kinds of weapons before and wielded them presently with deadly accuracy. The arrowheads struck their target as intended and the ensuing explosion rocked the great hall.  Stone heaved loudly as the Uruks standing near the point of detonation were throw in all directions, their bodies flung aside like rag dolls in the hands of an unruly child. Smashing hard against the floor, they heard dull cries of pain became lost in the ear splitting roar of explosions and gunfire. The confusion of explosives and bullets had turned the hallway into an orchestra of confusion and to this music they saw Jason and Eric reach the other end of the floor and were now in a position to see to the crossing of their comrades.

“Elladan!” Miranda shouted at him when she retreated behind the wall, “on my signal go.  Elrohir and I will cover your back. As soon as you get to the others, repeat what you’re doing here. That will give your brother the room he needs to get to you.”

Her planning was sound and logical. What a warrior this woman would have made in the day, Elladan thought before he sniggered to himself in a private joke. But she had been a warrior in her day, he corrected himself, a shield maiden no less. “I will await your word.”

Miranda nodded slightly before she stepped out again and resumed her barrage with Elrohir continuing his assault with more efficiency because his brother’s life depended on it.

  
“NOW!” Miranda ordered.

Elladan raced forward, keeping his head low as he felt the bullets whizzing past him. Their sound was a great assault upon his heightened hearing but somehow he endured it.  Clutching his bow, he crossed the floor and saw that Jason and Jason had also adding their firepower to the battle, reinforcing the formidable defensive perimeter that Miranda and his brother had created to ensure his safe passage. He ran past the great pillars, knowing that this was the great hall of Balin’s city, abandoned by Durin’s folk since the Third Age.

  
He skidded next to a stop behind the corner that Jason and Eric were using for shelter, out of breath but infinitely grateful to have escaped the line of fire.

“You okay?” Eric asked, pausing in his barrage as he looked to Elladan’s well being.

“I am well,” Elladan replied. “I must say I do not like these guns very much. Their projectiles move much to fast for my liking. Where is the skill to evade them?””

“Non-existent unless you’re Superman.” Eric grinned.

  
“Superman?” the elf stared at him.

“Never mind,” Eric shrugged and turned away to return to the business at hand.  “We have to help your brother and Miranda across.”

  
Elladan agreed and stood with Jason and Eric as they renewed their assault upon the enemy and prompted Elrohir into taking the perilous journey. Covering his brother’s journey as he had done, Elladan continued the barrage with the deadly cache of arrows, making certain that each one countered. The hall began to fill with dust from shattered rock, not quite enough to dislodge the pillars but enough to ensure that any Uruk standing in close proximity would know a swift death. Elrohir reached them soon enough and finally it was only Miranda who waited to make the crossing. The five men who had fought at her side, who followed her lead, mounted a united assault of gunfire and explosive, creating such a roar of noise and confusion, that Miranda had little difficulty reaching them over the blaze of gunfire.

“Come on!” Jason prompted once they were all together again, running down the room that apparently led to other caverns and halls in the labyrinthine place.

As Miranda followed the young New Zealander, she wondered how it would be possible to find two small children in such a large place.

***********

Pip heard the noise that was shuddering through the cavern and knew that something was happening. Frightened beyond all belief as he hurried away from the cavern where he and Sam were being held, Pip wondered if he was not being foolish, straying from the path that was known to the great darkness that was this place. He was too little to be able to defend himself. He was five! He always told Sam that he was big enough to do the things his brother could but until this moment, did not realize how truly insignificant he was. He thought of mum and dad who were probably searching for them and felt a deep pining for both that would have broken him into a thousand pieces if it were not for the overriding desire to find help for Sam.

He ran as fast as he could, putting as much distance away from himself and the cavern where he had left his brother. In his mind, a step further away was a step closer to freedom and his parents. It was dreadfully simple logic that only a child could manage in such horrendous circumstances. The caverns that he moved through were a curious mixture of manmade hallways and natural tunnels. He wondered who would have built these because it seemed very old. His father could discern what these were, Pip thought proudly. Daddy knew these things because daddy was very smart. He clung to the memory of his father, steel rimmed glasses perched upon his nose as he worked meticulously to study some artifact that he found. Pip loved watching Frank, watching the sparkle in his father's eyes when an answer came to him and his dad's efforts to explain that discovery even if much of his words were lost on Pip. That he tried to explain made Pip love him all the more.

Pip did not know how far he had gone before his straining lungs finally forced him to rest. The intermittent mix of walls and tunnels had blurred and he realized too late, the light in these passages was becoming infrequent the further away he strayed from the cell he had escaped. Only a faint glimmer of illumination reached his present location from a torch left behind some time ago. He had been breathing to hard earlier to notice a rancid odor that had crept up his nose that had all been unnoticed until he had paused. Pip was too young to know how much fear could mask when one was terrified.

 

He pause and took stock of his surroundings, the replenishment of oxygen in his lungs had brought clarity to his mind, clarity he wished he did not have. The smell was bad, very bad, like garbage after many days. He had stepped into a cavern and unlike the others, knew this one was not man made. This one was very old because the air he breathed reminded him of the places his father had unearthed, stale and barely breathable. He sucked in a deep breath and started to retreat, feeling even more anxious at the eerie glow of indigo that bathed the cavern. He looked around, trying to source out the reason for that awful smell and then decided he did not want to know. Recently, he had learnt that monsters were very real things and the darkness was where they thrived.

Where he was right now was very dark indeed.

Suddenly, he heard something. It made him freeze in his tracks. It dawned on him like slime crawling up his spine, cold and startling. He was not alone.

**********

It was rather surprised.

Under normal circumstances, it would have to hunt for its food. Its customary prey was wise enough not to stray these paths for they knew it had marked this place for its own. There was plenty food beyond it domain but hunting was required. It relished the chase for the prey was weak and chose safety in numbers, however even that was not enough to stop it from snatching a meal when it was time to feed. Sometimes they fought back with weapons but usually what harm that came to it was minimal and the kill had the tendency to send the others fleeing.

This new prey that had wandered into its realm was very strange. The meat smelt fresh. It could taste the tenderness even from its hiding place. The prey was also very small and could possibly be a youngling. It had tasted a few younglings in its time but none had the exquisite texture of scent as the one before it now. Its mouth watered in anticipation of the kill by the sheer deliciousness of the aroma exuding from its terrified flesh.

It saw the prey sensed him. The fear that had been heavy enough in the air for it to detect from far away had now become a musk-saturated stench. The prey was aware of its presence and was retreating. It watched with amusement as the youngling turned on its heels and fled.

It bared its teeth and smiled in pleasure. It did so love the hunt.

************

When the lift opened after the long journey, Frank had a genuine curiosity as to how far they had traveled. Trapped in the confines of the small space with the Nazgul was hardly a pleasant experience, however it felt even worse when it appeared to take forever to reach their destination. The Nazgul were growing increasingly uncomfortable as they made their descent into god only knew what depths and Frank wished he knew the reason for their agitation. He wondered if their mood could be attributed to the nine kinds of havoc his wife was undoubtedly wreaking in the search for their children. Knowing Miranda, subtlety would not be a strong point in such a venture.

When the doors parted and Frank was shoved outside, he was treated to what could only be called an archaeologist's dream and nightmare all rolled into one. He saw what could be considered the greatest archeological find of all time. The ceiling of the room was so high that Frank could not see the top but he knew it was there because the mighty columns that stretched from the floor and disappeared into the darkness above was proof enough of it. He saw the pillars, large as redwoods, standing before him like a great forest in a room whose sheer size was enough to take the breath away. If it were not for the urgency of his present situation, Frank would be exploring this place in an instant, trying to learn as much about the people who had built this monument to their civilization.

It was also a nightmare because the pillars standing immediately beyond the passage that had led from the lifts was riddle with bullet holes and what looked like damage from explosives. Chunks of stone littered the floor along with bodies. His heart sank at the destruction to the site but had little time to grieve this defacement because he was soon confronted with more evidence that Elladan and Elrohir's tales of Middle earth was true origins of the world he knew.

Upon seeing their arrival, a number of creatures strode up to Frank and the Nazgul. He stared at these beings, fascinated and frightened at the same time because they were definitely not human even though they took on human characteristics in many ways. Obviously, these were the Uruk Hai that Elladan had told them about, the creatures that David Saeran had grown in secret to be his army during his failed attempt to establish a new world order. The archaeologist in him was tempted to enquire if the Uruks had any skeletal fragments he could look at for a comparative study.

"My Lord," the Uruk bowed his head as he addressed Morgul. "Intruders have invaded this place."

"Where are they now?" The Nazgul lord demanded. His voice was almost glacial.

The Uruk shuddered at the sound of it and answered quickly. "They have escaped down the eastern hall."

"Which means they could be anywhere!" Morgul hissed and grabbed the Uruk by his throat.

Frank watched in horror as the Nazgul tightened a black gloved hand around the Uruk and squeezed in a vise like grip. The hapless creature struggled in a litany of gurgling sounds, his hands desperately clawing at Morgul's arm but to no avail. Frank turned away when the Uruk's efforts to fight subsided with his larynx crushed and his legs gave way beneath him. The sounds of the Uruk's gasp still invaded Frank's consciousness when he heard the creature's struggle finally giving way to death. Turning back to the grisly scene, Frank saw the Uruk was dangling limply in Morgul's grip. The Nazgul relinquished his hold only then and allowed the body to tumble to the floor.

The other Uruks did not look at their fallen comrade but Frank could tell by their body language that they were not unaffected by it. However, the Nazgul were their masters and this harsh punishment for failure appeared to be something they were accustomed to. He wondered if these creatures had any cultural identity of their own or was serving the Nazgul and their dark lord all there was to their existence?

"Find the invaders," Morgul ordered, the murderous edge to his voice even more pervading.

The Uruks nodded in blind obedience and departed to do that. Frank had some measure of satisfaction knowing that Miranda was still alive and at the moment, beyond the reach of the enemy. After their audience with the Uruks, the Nazgul left the enormous cavern, resuming their course of supposedly reuniting him with his children. Frank was more than dubious about this claim, certain that the Nazgul were not prone to generosity unless it suited them. This was their way of reminding him what was at stake, to convince him that producing the Simaril would be the only way to save his children. Frank was not foolish enough to think for one moment the Nazgul would have honored their word, even if he had been willing to make the exchange.

They lead him through a maze of passages, saying nothing as they made the journey. Although he was generally afraid, something else had started to concern him, something he could not put his finger on. It tugged at the edge of his consciousness, fraying his nerves with silent foreboding. As it was, the thought that his sons had been incarcerated in such a dismal and desolate place, so far beneath the earth, with Uruk Hai as their jailors had filled him with a deep sense of outrage and there was no telling what effect this would have on their state of mind. He thought of Sam and Pip in this darkness and felt such a fierce desire to hurt the Nazgul that he could scarcely contain it.

They arrived at a cavern after long last and Frank was ushered in first, his passage through the entrance facilitated by sharp push forward. He stumbled slightly in the dim light and saw what looked like a small cage in the center of the cave. It appeared carved from rock and the only artificial thing about the construct was the metal door that sealed its contents within. His heart began to pound as he took a step forward, squinting hard at the same time so he could make out what was contained within. He could smell the acrid smell of human waste and felt his stomach hollow in disgust.

"Open it!" Frank shouted.

"We are not obliged to do anything," Morgul replied icily.

"You want the artifact?" he glared at the Nazgul. "Then open the fucking door!"

Morgul nodded at one of his brothers who immediately stepped forward and complied with the request. No sooner than the door had opened, Frank had raced forward, skidding to a halt at the entrance.

"Sam! Pip!" He called out frantically.

 

Sam was lying on the floor of his terrible cage. His tiny body scrunched up in a fashion Frank had not seen since he was very little. The boy was shivering and had not enough presence of mind to recognize his father was near.

"Sam!" Frank bundled his son in his arms and felt himself reduced to panic when he saw how hot the child was. There was moisture on his face. Bloody hell! He was burning up! It was when Frank was trying to understand how his son had come to this did he seen the bloodied stains on the floor that led him to the knife wound in Sam's shoulder.

"You bastard!" Frank swore furiously. "What have you done to him? Where's Pip?"

"The other one is gone," the Nazgul revealed to his brothers.

"The incompetence of the Uruk Hai is beyond description," Morgul shook his head in disgust. "No matter," he shrugged. "I doubt he'd survive out in the open for very long."

Frank refused to believe that because Miranda was out there somewhere and he had to believe that if Pip was wandering this place, she would find him. She had to. He turned back to Sam, holding the child in his arms the way he had done the first hour of Sam's life.

"Sam," Frank said trying to keep his voice from shattering. "Sam, its dad, I'm here Sam. I'm here." He clutched Sam's hand, hoping that wherever his son was, he could feel Frank's presence.

Sam stirred at the sound of his name. His eyes fluttered and he stared at Frank with glassy eyes. Frank tried to conceal the shock at seeing the color of his hazel irises turning to white. "Daddy," he whispered in a small voice, "it hurts."

"I know Sam," Frank swallowed, clutching the boy's hand tighter. All the reason, all the intelligence and courage in the world felt meaningless in the face of a parent confronting their worst fear, harm to their children. At that moment, seeing his son in this condition, Frank knew he would give the Nazgul whatever they wanted if it meant he could save his boy. "I'll make it better Sam, I promise you, I'll make it better."

"Now," Morgul stepped forward, pleased that the professor was exactly where he needed to be, "let us discuss the whereabouts of the Simaril."

 


	16. The Light of the Trees

The vastness of Moria swallowed them as a great fish might do to bait, enveloping them in darkness where things lurked in silence, waiting for the perfect moment of weakness to strike.

This, Elladan felt more strongly than he felt the heart beating within his breast. Despite the company escaping the reach of the Uruk Hai for the moment, Elladan knew that the threat he had sensed from above was not simply the presence of the enemy’s warriors but something that had been lingering here for many ages. Possibly even from as far back as the time of the elves departure from the world of men.

Durin’s folk had abandoned Moria in the Fourth Age and their disappearance in Arda was a mystery that Elladan intended to discuss once they had returned to Valinor. That is if they were able to escape Moria with their lives. The world of men did not know Durin’s folk except as figments of tales told to children. They did not know of the magnificent craftsman who had built the great hall through which they had passed earlier. Seeing the realm of Dwarrowdelf abandoned saddened the elf somewhat and he wondered where the dwarfs had gone in the face of the increasingly alien world developing around them. No doubt their cities were so deep beneath the earth that no one, not even man with his remarkable machines could find them. He thought of Gimli and how Legolas Greenleaf had wept the day the dwarf passed and knew that for the dwarfs, there would be no resurrection until after the earth was built anew. It was a shame really because he sensed the dwarfs would have greatly enjoyed man’s advancements in the present age.

It was a question for another time he decided, because at the moment Elladan was certain that while the dwarfs had abandoned Dwarrodelf, it was not empty. He had suspicions about what had taken up residence here since the departure of the dwarfs and with all the commotion they had caused in escaping the Uruks, Elladan had no doubt that Moria’s present tenants were perfectly aware of their existence and on the move. He looked at Elrohir and saw the same concern in his brother’s face. Being twins, they knew each other well enough to dispense with the need to communicate using words. Sharing the same blood and the same womb had bonded their souls in a way that allowed them to discern each other’s thoughts by simple instinct.

Elrohir knew as well as he what was coming and feared that their time was growing short.

Unfortunately, the dim light within the intermittent passages of stone and natural terrain made it exceedingly difficult to track the children. They had been running for quite some time, lengthening the distance between themselves and the Uruks without encountering either. He had no doubt that the Uruks were fanning out or waiting for orders from their Nazgul masters whose presence Elladan could also sense. All their enemies were rallied together in one place, making these tunnels they were moving through a labyrinth of death.

"This place is too bloody big," Eric complained as they paused at a crossroad of tunnels and corridors. He was leaning against a wall, taking deep breaths after running all that way from the lift. "We’re never going to find these kids at this rate, not with everyone of those things hunting us."

"We have to try," Miranda said firmly, pacing the ground like a caged animal, needing to react even if there was nothing to react to. She too was beginning to see futility in their search even if she was incapable of admitting it. Driven by instincts older than civilisation, she was compelled by a mother’s instincts and would continue to search while there was breath left in body to do it.

  
"The Nazgul are here," Elrohir informed the humans needing them to understand just how urgent the situation was. "We sense their presence."

"The Nazgul?" Miranda stared at him, "do you know where?"

"Close," he answered, "but do we really wish to face them?"

"Yes," Miranda nodded, "because they may be where the kids are." She did not add that it was very possible that Frank was here too. After all, both Frank and Miranda had known that he could not delay them indefinitely and it was unlikely that they would relinquish their hold on him once he was in their clutches, whether or not he did have the Silmaril.

"We’re going to die sometime," Jason replied, agreeing with Miranda’s assertion although he was starting to believe that none of them would ever see daylight again. However, if he were to die, he would prefer it facing the enemy instead of roaming these dark and sinister catacombs waiting to be taken by something lurking in the shadows. "Better this way than any other," he added.

"I admire your ability to make such a measured choice," Eric gave him a look but then faced the others, "she’s right. We’re not going to get to them playing safe. Let’s go to root of the problem."

Elladan and Elrohir traded glances, conveying to each other their gratitude and admiration for their companions. There was nothing the brothers loved more than a good battle, even if it did appear to be hopeless. After living for so long, death was the _one_ experience they had yet to share and did not fear it.

"Then we best hurry," Elrohir remarked with a grin. "Today is a good day to die."

"Very Klingon," Eric retorted rolling his eyes.

***********

.

_The prey was faltering._

_It could sense its exhaustion, could see it by the erratic tracks left in its wake. It had been maintaining the pursuit for a good distance now and the prey’s ability to keep ahead was not only adept but also challenging. Blind panic fuelled the prey’s desire to push on, urging it to continue even though its strength was wanning. It could smell the salt of the youngling’s fear, an aromatic bouquet that filtered through its senses and brought alive all the hungered impulses in its body. It drew its teeth back savouring the pleasure of it, its tongue quivering with anticipation of the fresh kill._

_It could hear the heavy pants of the prey’s breath, could hear the whimpers of terror as the youngling ran, trying to stay ahead of its teeth, of its sharp claws that would tear and rend. It would be a slow kill, it had decided. A meal as fine as this should not be squandered, it had to be savoured and relished. To simply devour would mean losing it to memory and it may be quite some time, if ever, that it had a chance to feed like this again. It heard an abrupt sound and uttered a growl of satisfaction, knowing it had come from the youngling who had stumbled during the chase. The prey’s exhaustion was almost complete._

_It would not be long now._

***********

If Pip had been able to manage a thought, that thought would have surely been to acknowledge that was going to die.

He had not even dared to look over his shoulder to see what it was that was chasing him. All he knew was that it was big, ferocious and not about to let him escape. Pip ran at breakneck speed, pouring all the energy that was capable of being wrung from a five-year-old terrified out of his mind. He felt as if he could not breathe as if the oxygen entering his lungs was disappearing up the instant it entered his nose. He knew he could not maintain this pace for long. Even now, his limbs were screaming for respite. However stopping would mean nothing less than his death. He knew it as certainly as he knew that was what chasing him was terrible and monstrous.

Scrambling frantically through the passages, Pip paid little attention to where he was going, only that he was running for his life. A rock in his path sent him tumbling into the dirt, scraping his elbows and his chin against the hard surface. He heard the soft padding footsteps of the beast behind him and had no time to whimper or cry out in pain before he was up on his feet, running again. He could feel blood on his cut chin and his elbows burned with pain but Pip forced himself to ignore it. He knew he could not keep this up. Each breath was becoming more strained. He wanted to cry at his helplessness but Pip dared not waste his strength on that.

  
Forging on ahead, he caught sight of something. A fissure in the rock. It was not very big, barely a wedge really but suddenly, it became his only chance for survival. Pip headed towards it as he heard the growls behind him intensify as if the beast knew what he was intending and felt it necessary to issue warning to stay away from the grotto. The creature’s insistence of it inspired Pip to pour all his remaining energy into reaching the opening. He heard the steps of the beast quicken as it attempted to reach him before he made the entry. Pip saw the mouth of the grotto beckoning him with invitation as he closed the distance and taxed the last of his reserves in a singular burst of speed.

He reached it as he heard the footsteps behind him pause followed by a powerful roar that made the cavern quake. He was oblivious to everything as except the ope mouth of the grotto that rushed to greet him with its swallowing darkness. The entrance was narrow and Pip had to slip in sideways or else he would not have been able to enter it at all. The grotto was little more than a wedge in the wall and Pip pushed himself as far towards the back as he could. There was a moment of silence when he turned around and faced the opening, praying that it was too small for the monster to follow.

A shadow fell over the entrance, preceding the swipe of a powerful foreleg attached to an even more lethal set of claws. Razor sharp, they slashed Pip across the thigh and drew a high-pitched scream of pain as blood washed over his torn flesh. The beast uttered another furious growl at the scent of his blood and attempted to force its massive head through the wedge unsuccessfully before it was forced to withdraw in frustration. Pip shrunk deeper into the grotto, until his back was digging into the rock, biting down on his lip to control the stinging pain of his leg and his urge to cry. The creature continued to take swipes, slashing the inside of the grotto with its sharp claws in a desperate to reach him. Pip controlled himself as long as he could but in the end, fear and anger own out and he shouted at it to go away, praying that the beast would tire of this stalemate and leave.

Unfortunately, it didn’t.

*************

"Did you hear?" Elladan looked at his brother, pausing in midstep.

"Yes," Elrohir nodded halting their progress through the tunnel that would take them to the Nazgul.

"What is it?" Miranda asked, her hands tightening cautiously around her gun.

Elladan did not answer; instead he turned up another path, one that seemed to lead away from the lighted tunnels of this underground city. His brother fell into step as they ignored the smell of dank air and the fetid stench of things fel and terrible. Thanks to their elven hearing, he and Elrohir could hear the cries of desperation far sooner than the humans in their company. It was just as well, he thought as his hasty steps broke into a run upon identifying the source of those cries. If Miranda knew what he suspected; they would be delayed unnecessarily by questions they had no time to answer.

"It comes from this way," Elrohir gestured towards another crossroads, using the intensifying sounds as a guide.

"What is it?" Miranda demanded. "What are you hearing?"

"There is no time!" Elladan snapped and continued running. He increased his speed and raced down the tunnel, grateful that his superior eyesight allowed him to see in the fading light. The screams were interlaced by something else now, the growls of an animal that was surely as powerful as its savage snarls seemed to indicate. They had very little time to act and saw Elrohir was already loading his bow.

Miranda was to make another demand when suddenly the sounds that had set the elves upon their course reached her ears and brushed away instantly and further questions in her mind. Her heart froze in her chest and suddenly a burst of power surged through her that rivalled that capable by any elf. Lowering her gun, she ran faster than she had ever run in her entire life, knowing that every second counted. The elves were ahead and she felt some measure of comfort knowing that they had the stamina to reach their destination first.

The roar that filled their ears when they reached the source of the commotion came from a beast almost the size of a large bear. However, it had not the sluggish movements of that creature. Its pelt was dark silver; almost black that heaved like the ripples on water upon their arrival. It turned its massive head towards them and glared with eyes that looked like the twin orbs of a yellow moon. It drew back its jaws and revealed powerful fangs, glistening with saliva, enraged that its meal had been intruded upon. It bellowed at the new arrivals in a powerful roar of fury that revibrated through the stone. It retreated from the narrow fissure in the rock and took a running leap at Elrohir, more than ready to rip out his throat.

However, the elf was more than ready for the beast.

Releasing his bowstring, an arrow slammed into the creature’s body, causing it to lose control of its pounce. It fell away and rolled across the ground, deterred in its course but not about to give up either. It snarled at them in its pain and prepared to launch itself again when Jason opened fire, emptying a barrage of shells into his massive body. The creature, caught in the shower of lead, could do little but jerk about spasmodically as it howled in pain. Blood splattered outward from ripped flesh, fur and meat wetting the ground as the sound of gunfire eclipsed its angry screams of dying. Jason did not know how long his finger remained on the trigger but he did not depress it until the creature landed heavily on its side and moved no more.

"What the hell is that?" Eric managed to ask when the sound of gunfire had died away.

"It is a warg," Elladan remarked staring at the dead beast.

"A warg?" Jason looked at the elf for a more detailed explanation.

"It is one of Sauron’s creatures," Elrohir offered, "they were allies with the dark ones. Orcs used to use them as beasts of burden, the way we ride horses."

Miranda paid little attention to their discussion because she could care less about the creature, only what it had intended as its prey. She dropped her gun on the ground at her feet and continued towards the grotto where she could hear sounds of sobbing and fear. Her heart was pounding inside of her because she recognised those tears all too well. How many times had she heard it when consoling a skimmed knee or some childhood mishap that only a mother’s touch could soothe? Those tears had more power over her than any rapist in Belfast. It broke her heart every time she heard it. Reaching the entrance, she peered through the opening and saw huddled in a corner, to her indescribable joy, her son.

"Pip," she called softly, "its mummy."

There was a blur of movement after his eyes turned at the sound of the voice where he tore himself out of the corner and fairly flung himself out of the grotto in order to reach her.

"MUM!" Pip cried out joyously as he wrapped his arms around her mother and felt even happier when she embrace him in turn.

Miranda did not think that there was any feeling that could describe how she felt the instant she held her youngest child in her arms again. All she wanted to do was to remain in this place, so she could hold him forever. When she had recognised those cries as his, Miranda thought she would die from the despair of it. Now that he was returned to her, she could not recall being so grateful for anything in her entire life. Miranda did not realise she was crying as she held him but eve if she had noticed, she would hardly care. Her child was safe and that was all that mattered.

"Don’t cry mum," Pip said pulling away from her. "Don’t be sad."

Miranda laughed softly as she saw him concerned and kissed his forehead, "I’m not sad," she said smiling. "I’m so happy to see you."

The remark caused another hug between mother and child and those who bore witness to it could not deny that they too were experiencing emotions of happiness at seeing this reunion come to pass.

"Mummy, you found us!" Pip said with wonder and awe when they parted. "Sam said you would!"

Her joy had been such that for a brief second, Miranda had forgotten about Sam. That fact and the realisation that Pip’s leg was smeared in blood mortified her. "Are you all right?" Miranda struggled to speak, her eyes brimming with tears as she examined him and saw the wound on his leg. "You’re hurt!"

"The monster," Pip volunteered, his small face wrinkling in pain. "He scratched me."

"Don’t you worry about him," Miranda said not even casting an eye at the creature who did this to her son because she was too concern with tending to the wound. "Nothing is going to hurt you again, I promise. I love you Pip, god in heaven I love you so much!" She said embracing him again.

"Mum!" Pip suddenly remembered Sam and pushed away from his mother even though it felt very, very nice to have her hold him again. "You have to help Sam! They hurt him."

"Hurt him?" Miranda’s eyes hardened to granite. "How?"

"They cut him," Pip answered. "He was bleeding in the shoulder mummy, I think he’s going to die if we don’t help him."

  
"Nobody’s going to die little one," Elrohir said to the boy. "But we must hurry my lady, we cannot linger here. If he is hurt then we must find the Nazgul to reach him."

"Yes you’re right," Miranda said with new purpose. "Come on Pip, let’s go find Sam."

 

**********

Time had run out.

  
As Frank Miller regarded the Nazgul waiting for an answer, he knew that he had nothing left to bargain with. Ingenuity and sheer stubbornness had brought him this far but now that was nothing left to gamble with, no trick he could use to delay the inevitable. His child was in his arms, dying. He looked at Sam’s face and knew the boy was fighting to stay alive but it was a battle he was simply not equipped to fight. He should not have had to. Frank wiped the moisture from Sam’s clammy skin as if it would hold back the tide of whatever that was consuming him and knew he had to act before it was late. Frank had thought he had felt helpless when he had seen the Nazgul take Sam and Pip but it was nothing in comparison to the despair that filled him now.

"I am waiting," the harsh voice of Morgul demanded once more, piercing his skin like icicles. "Where is the Silmaril?"

"You’ll kill us both if I tell you," Frank glared at him, aware that he was stalling for time.

"I will kill one of you that is for certain," Morgul answered, aware that the human attempting to delay the inevitable. He could almost smell the man’s desperation. It pleased him greatly even though it made Morgul wish that it was Miranda here, not her spouse who was in this unforgiving situation. The moment would taste all the more sweet if she were. "You can either save your son’s life or hasten his journey but make no mistake, we will have your answer _now_."

Frank closed his eyes feeling the walls of his cage shrinking around him, trapping him in its totality as he was faced with the decision he knew he could no longer avoid, no matter what the cost. He hoped that Miranda understood that he had to do it. If there was even the slightest possibility that this ‘thing’ could save Sam, then he had to try.

"I don’t have it," Frank finally spoke and the words escaped him like blood escaping stone.

"That is obvious," Morgul hissed and prepared to speak again when suddenly he paused and looked at his brothers. They were reacting in much the same way. Something had stirred them just as he had been. He cast his gaze back to Frank and replied. "I no longer need you to tell me the truth. The Silmaril draws close."

Frank’s eyes widened. Miranda was here!

Hope began to flood inside of him. If he could just hold out until they arrive. He could get Sam out of here and get him to a doctor. He glanced down as his son whose body was shuddering from the effects of the wound. Seeing him in this way tore Frank’s heart to a thousand pieces. He had to get help. He could not face the possibility of having to bury his own child.

"What about my son?" Frank asked. "You said you could help him."

Morgul turned to him and started to laugh. It was a deeply offensive sound full of malice and hatred. Frank felt his blood turn cold as he started to realise that Morgul had been playing him, that this Nazgul never had any intention of helping him.

"Help him?" Morgul gloated as he faced Frank. The others were scattering throughout the room, preparing for a fight. "Why would I help the Ringbearer? This little cretin is the cause of all this! If it were not for him and his master, our lord Sauron would have ruled the world until the end of time. An empire was destroyed the instant your son and his compatriot flung what was not theirs into the pits of Mount Doom. Did you think I would let him go? Or live for that matter? I hate him almost as much as the bitch dog you married. I almost killed you once Faramir of Gondor and that is who you are. This shell you wear is nothing, a skin covering the forgotten child of Denethor. You would have died by my hand if not for Isildur’s upstart progeny. I could kill you now but it would avail us nothing. I am after all not unreasonable and if you are willing to listen, I think we can come to some arrangement."

"Not bloody likely!" Frank shouted. "You’ve shown very little ability to keep us against our wills. We’ll get out of here and we’ll get Sam help, without you!" It was an empty threat and he knew it but Frank was past caring.

"You stupid human," Morgul looked at him. "Did you think I would harm your child out of sheer vengeance, while my lord is still a prisoner in Valinor? My lord’s lover believed that fear for your children’s lives would force your cooperation in negotiating for us with his captors, but I know your kind too well and I know treachery for even longer. Your child will die unless you go to Valinor. The help you seek can only found there. There is at this moment, a plane waiting in a hangar outside Goslar. When your woman arrives here with the Silmaril, you will be taken there to make the flight. The Valar will let you pass through the veil because of what you carry. You will negotiate for us and bring back our lord and only then will your son be returned to you."

"He will die before that!" Frank declared.

"The poison takes times to work," Morgul answered. "I crafted the Morgul blade specifically for the purpose. You have four days, no more. If you do not return to us in that time, your son will join us, a fitting end for a Ringbearer."

He was lying, Frank was certain of it. Sam did not have four days. He did not doubt that a cure could be found in Valinor but Frank would never get it to Sam in time for it to be of any use. Morgul had said it himself; he hated Sam as much as he hated Miranda. He would not consciously allow Sam to be helped if he could prevent it. Everything he was saying to Frank now was a lie, Frank knew it was just a ruse to trick him into cooperating.

He was desperate. He had to find a way out this situation. He knew the Valar would not willingly allow Saeran to go free, not for the life of one human child. The Nazgul were trapped by the belief that the Valar were the antithesis of their master, who would see no difficulty in sacrificing a child for his own ends. They did not think that Valar capable of making the hard choices. Frank however, was not so blinded. Even if he agreed to negotiate for their master’s release, Frank would not be saving Sam. All he would accomplish by carrying out the Nazgul’s plans would be to expose Sam to an enemy who had even more reason to want him dead than these Nazgul servants.

Helping the Nazgul was not an option. However, what Morgul had said about a plane waiting to take him to Valinor _was_.

He had no idea how this barrier between worlds functioned, only that the paradise world of the elves was protected by it. Only the elves could pass through the barrier and those who journeyed with them. That was how Bryan had been sequestered away. The twins had said that they could return with a ship built specifically by a group of elves called the Teleri, that no other vessel reach Valinor otherwise. However, none of those vessel carried with them the Silmaril and something that had once been a part of the great trees that had given light to the world, could be felt. If these Nazgul could feel it then the Valar had to as well.

Frank had to believe that or the plan he formed in his mind would die in the making and with it, his son.

"You are right," Frank swallowed as his gaze dropped to the ground, scraping the dirt-covered floor in a gesture of submission. "You win. I’ll do what you want. I’ll get your master back for you," he said bitterly, his eyes full of hatred when he finally lifted them to Morgul. "You make certain my son remains alive to benefit."

Morgul had no intention of keeping any such promise to Frank but the human did not need to know that as this point. It had taken quite a bit to break that proud spirit, still so defiant after all these years. Another lifetime did not change the soul residing within Frank Miller. It was just as powerful and resonant as the day Faramir of Gondor had faced Morgul on the field of battle. Forcing Frank to submit now was a great step and one Morgul intended to exploit to its fullest measure.

"They are approaching," one of his brothers’ spoke from the door.

"You will speak to them," Morgul said to Frank. "You will tell them to lower their weapons."

"My wife will never agree to it," Frank answered. "She won’t trust you to honor your word."

"As long as my master is entrapped, there is always room for negotiation," the Witch King declared. "You will tell her to obey or else this negotiation ends with your child’s blood soaking the ground."

Frank clenched his fists in anger, forcing himself not to be baited by Morgul’s words. There was no need to give him any more pleasure than he was already experiencing. Instead, he channeled his anger into the part he needed to play to perfection if this plan known only to him, was going to work. "Fine. I’ll talk to her."

He went to the mouth of the cavern and paused, flanked by Nazgul on either side of the entrance. They were waiting for him to betray them, reluctant to trust him even though they held his child’s life hostage. Frank wish he could oblige them but for him to relay his plan to Miranda and the others, they had to be here and it was not much of a plan really, just a desperate gamble borne out of a father’s desire to save his child. He looked at Sam once more, lying on the rock, his young body shuddering like a leaf in the wind. He thought of the child he had cradled in his arms, who had won his devotion with his first smile and Frank knew that he could not face Miranda with the news that they had lost their eldest. He simply could not.

"Miranda!" He called out, hating himself for doing this but comprehending he had no choice. "Miranda, if you’re out there, lower your guns."

He heard the approaching footsteps halt instantly and could imagine the questions that must have surely been hurtling through Miranda’s mind. He waited for the inevitable response, knowing that she would answer once she was certain that it was he.

"Miranda luv," he called out again to reinforce her belief. "It’s me, Frank."

"Frank?" She returned after a few moments, "what’s happening?"

Even through the distance, he could hear her confusion.

"Miranda," he repeated himself. "You have to trust me. You have to lower your guns to approach. There’s no other way."

Another noticeable pause followed and he could almost hear the argument she must be having with the others. He saw the Nazgul staring at him, he could see the way their bodies were flinching and guessed that the Silmaril must have been having its effect on them. It was meant to be a force of purity, something that would burn away the darkness. Frank had never intended to perform such a practical test but he had no choice now.

"Frank, are you sure?" Miranda asked again.

  
"Luv, you have to trust me," he repeated himself. "Sam’s badly hurt. If we don’t do it this way, he’ll suffer something worse than death."

He knew his wife well and he knew telling her about Sam would tip the balance in his favor. He hated using her powerful maternal instincts in this way but he was driven by equally powerful paternal need to save Sam. He heard the footsteps resume and peered out of the cavern entrance to see that she had put her faith in him and was walking to the cavern, the weapon in her hand lowered. Behind her, Elrohir and Eric were flanking her cautiously while to his intense relief, he saw Pip walking hand in hand with Eric. The child’s eyes brightened at the sight of his father and Frank wished he could have given Pip the welcome he wanted but the moment was far too tense for that. This had to be played out to its inevitable end.

"Frank, what’s going on?" Miranda asked when she was near enough, her eyes fixed upon the Nazgul beside him.

"Sam’s been hurt," he said cautiously.

"Pip told us," she replied.

"Not how badly," Frank explained as she neared the entrance paused. "You want me to cooperate, you’re going to have to give me some room to move." He gazed briefly at Morgul.

Morgul nodded at his brothers who promptly retreated from the doorway, knowing what was at stake. Frank let out a sigh of relief and turned back to his wife.

"They’ve wounded him with something that will turn Sam into one of them if we don’t get him help," Frank explained.

  
"What!" Miranda burst out, her hands tightening around her gun once more in fury.

"A Morgul blade!" Elrohir hissed in outrage and turned an accusatory eye at Morgul. "You vile creatures would visit such pain on a child!"

"Calm down," Frank said sharply to the elf, trying to diffuse the situation. The others were just as angry as Elrohir. Frank could see storm across their faces. However, Elrohir’s strong words were provoking the Nazguls’ own baser instincts and it would take one rash act to turn this entire situation bloody. "He says that that the only way to help Sam is to go to Valinor, is that true?" He looked at Elrohir.

"Yes," Elrohir nodded, "my father has healed such a wound before but speed is of the essence. We would have to take Sam there immediately."

Miranda had no sooner reached Frank than she followed his gaze and was led to the sight of Sam lying on the ground, appearing as sickly as Pip had described him. All sense was driven from her as she hurried forward, caring little about the delicate balance of the temporary détente that Frank had forged with the Nazgul.

"Oh my god, Sam!" She ran to his side and immediately swept him up in her arms; unaware that her horror of her child’s predicament was giving great pleasure to the wraith whom had inflicted the wound upon him. "Oh my baby," she cried out as she felt his face and recoiled at how warm his skin felt under her palm. She felt the heat and the moisture. He trembled in her arms, a shuddering action, which compound her terror even further. "Frank, he’s burning up!" She looked at her husband helplessly. She rocked him in her arms, holding Sam to her breast as if he were still an infant. He did not struggle in her embrace and seem almost oblivious to his presence.

"Sammie," Miranda spoke laying him on the ground so she could look at the wound. "It’s mummy, I’m here. We’ll make you better."

"How sweet," Morgul said taking a step forward, relishing her fear. "I had no idea that using the whelp in this manner would be so satisfying."

  
"You bastard!" Miranda snarled almost lunging forward.

  
"MIRANDA!" Frank stopped her in her tracks, crossing the space between them in seconds. Morgul was itching for a chance to provoke Miranda, now that he knew she was powerless to act.

"Not now," he said calmly, taking her hands in his. "Sam needs us to be strong for him. There will be time for this later." He met her eyes and tried to convey what he needed in a fashion that would not arouse the suspicion of the enemy. "You need to keep a cool head. When I do what I have to, you must make certain that Sam is safe, do you understand?"

  
Miranda looked at him and began to understand that he had something unspoken in mind. She nodded slowly and swallowed thickly, her hand reaching for his face as the tears rolled own her cheeks. "I love you," she whispered. "Whatever happens, I always will."

Frank smiled and kissed her on the forehead before hugging her warmly. For a few seconds, they stayed in each other’s embrace, drawing strength from one another before Frank turned to Elladan and Elrohir who could not discern for a moment what the human was intending. Frank looked past them at Eric who was holding Pip in his arms still. "You make a good uncle," he smiled faintly at the Australian. "Keep my Pip safe. Things are going to get very dangerous when I give them what they want."

Eric’s brow knotted. His instincts sensed something hidden behind Frank’s words that made him pay closer attention to what was happening around him. Miranda was cradling Sam but there was also something in her movements that reeked of anticipation. What was Frank doing?

"You do what you have to," Eric found himself saying. "We’ll back you mate."

"Dad," Pip looked at Frank fearfully.

"It will be alright Pip," Frank answered with an effort to be reassuring. "Elrohir, give me the Silmaril."

"You can’t!" Jason protested.

"Silence!" One of the Nazgul bellowed, aiming a gun squarely at the younger man. Jason reacted in kind, raising his gun to shoot back.

"Don’t!" Frank ordered fiercely and stood between both of them before bullets could be exchanged.

"Control your companions," Morgul warned. "We have made a bargain that includes the safety of your family. That does not extend to these others." The Nazgul glared at Jason. "I have not forgotten how this one aided in my death. Your wife lives because it serves our bargain to allow her to survive. That protection does not include him."

"Give me your best shot you fucking ghoul!" Jason retorted.

"Bloody well shut up!" Frank warned angrily. There was enough force in his voice to silence the young Kiwi instantly.

"Frank," Elladan spoke, "you cannot trust him. The instant he has the Silmaril in his possession, he will kill us all."

"He cannot barter for his master without me," Frank said meeting the elf’s gaze, wishing the man knew him enough to understand that he had ulterior motives. "Please give me the artifact."

"You cannot wield it," Elladan insisted, unable to understand what was in this human’s mind. Frank was no fool, Elladan was certain. He could not have led them this far without being such but his actions now spoke of folly.

"I don’t intend it to get that close," Frank assured him. "However, this won’t end until they get what they want so I intend to see that is exactly what they get."

His words were heavy with meaning but for the life of him, Elladan could not see what it was. Frank took a deep breath and extended his hand. "I hope you know what it is you do," Elladan said reaching into his jacket and saw the Nazgul become excited at the realization at who was holding the artifact. If not for the fact that none of Nazgul could handle the jewel without serious harm, they would have already taken it from him. The Silmaril remained in a leather pouch even though it could do little harm to the elf.

"You doom yourself by this," Elrohir added, "you must know that."

Frank ignored him and drew a deep breath. Taking the leather pouch in his hand, he turned around and walked to Morgul. He swept his gaze over the area, saw Miranda on the ground with their son, her eyes fixed on Sam and also on something else, furtively. She knew what he was planning and he felt a surge of love for her because she knew his mind so well. For his family, there were no sacrifices too small and if he were to die now, he would live with that consequence. Morgul stood ahead of him waiting and Frank could almost see the gloating pleasure in his face, believing that he had tricked Frank into giving in when it was he that was grievously misled.

Eric had moved to the corner of the cavern, where an outcropping of rock provided something of an obstruction that provided some protection. He was watching Frank like a hawk and the archaeologist was grateful that he had not underestimated Eric’s journalistic sense. The twins too were aware of something, if not what exactly. At present, their thoughts could not escape the possibility of the Nazgul gaining their ends with the possession of the Silmaril. Jason was in the same position but Frank had every confidence that he would react when the opening was given.

"I have your word that my family will be safe?" Frank said approaching Morgul with the artifact.

"We have an agreement," the Nazgul said in its icy voice.

Frank reached into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief, wrapping his palm in the soft fabric as he paused in front of the Nazgul. He could see the others in the room flinching, even if Morgul was doing his best to hide it. What Frank held in his hand had more power than anyone could conceive. He remembered absurdly of what Indiana Jones felt when confronted with the choice of destroying the ark he had so desperately sought and could not because of its historical value. Frank unfastened the leather cord that held the pouch close and let the jewel fall into his fabric wrapped around his palm, thinking that here he was faced with all the answers he had ever had regarding man and how he had come to be. This jewel had existed before that primordial awakening.

This was his ark. This was _his_ history.

He saw it as something beautiful and ageless, a monument to its creator’s artistry, a work of art that made the Sistine Chapel and the Mona Lisa pale in comparison. All his life, he had been dedicating to find the truth. When he looked into the sparkling facets of the jewel, the fruit of the great trees, he knew that this was the truth, that man was not the master of this world but merely the newest addition to rich, textured tapestry of life. He saw all this in a fraction of a second and knew that this as much as his family needed to be protected.

The gun that he had taken from Miranda in their brief embrace was produced before he even released the thought from his mind. Aiming it at Morgul at point blank range, he emptied the entire magazine into the creature’s head without giving any warning. Morgul’s head snapped back and forth like a ball bouncing in a corner. The Nazgul had no time to react as he staggered and reeled. Frank leapt into action, enclosing his fist around the jewel for which this creature had been so willing to harm his children.

The instant Frank had acted, Miranda went for her gun. She rolled across the ground, grabbing Sam in one hand to shield him with her body while she opened fire with the other. Bullet’s exploded out of the barrel at the Nazgul who was about to shoot Frank down. She had little time to waste once depressing the trigger because she had to get Sam away from the shooting. The burst of gunfire did little to stir her oldest and as she rolled onto her knees, she saw something moving in the corner of her eye. Carrying Sam slowed her down considerably as she spun around to face the threat but it was one that was not realized as an arrow struck the Nazgul about to shoot her in the back.

"TAKE COVER!" Miranda shouted at anyone capable of hearing because she saw the arrows that Elladan had released was not one that would tolerate others in its presence.

The arrow struck the Nazgul dead center and Miranda saw its surprise and its lack of fear. Why should it be afraid? It thought itself to be invincible. Unkillable yes, but invincible? Far from it she thought and saw the fraction of a second it took for the Nazgul to realize how much. The explosion created a ball of fire in mid air and sent waves of heat flowing through the room. Jason moved next to Eric who was holding Pip close to him and ensuring her son came to no harm. Miranda let out a sigh of relief at seeing Pip in good hands. Even as she held Sam to her, she could feel the heat he was generating on his own. His body could not endure this much longer. If they did not get him help soon, he was going to die.

Miranda looked around for a place to put him where he could be safe until the fighting was done. She saw the cell that had been his prison and knew that it was sturdy enough to offer him some protection. Crouching low, Miranda held Sam tight as she navigated the path through bullets and arrows. She looked over her shoulder and saw Eric and Jason keeping the Nazgul at bay with a deadly hail of bullets while Elladan and Elrohir were using what explosives were at their disposal to ensure that Nazgul were delivered a more lasting defeat. She felt a bullet from their guns graze her shoulder, nicking the flesh slightly and utter a soft cry of pain as she reached the stone cage.

"Mummy," Sam whispered when Miranda set him down on the ground again, his eyes fluttering open to cast a glass look upon her, "Mum, I’m so tired. I can’t keep running," he muttered.

"Oh darling," she said kissing his cheek, holding his hand tight even though time did not permit it. "I’ll make you better," she answered, fresh tears escaping her eyes. "I promise you won’t have to keep running for much longer."

She had to leave him then, even though doing so left a murderous streak in her and when Miranda turned to face the enemy, she was more than prepared to decimate them from the face of the earth. The cavern was shuddering, the explosions caused by the twins were creating fissures in the ceiling and Miranda knew it wouldn’t be long before the entire roof caved in over their heads. She saw Jason making his way towards the entrance of the cave, protecting Eric as they tried to make for the tunnel outside with Pip.

Miranda turned to Frank, having lost sight of her husband in all this chaos. She saw him standing over Morgul with an expression of black hatred she had never before seen. For a moment, she had no idea who he was, this man who was so full of rage it almost frightened her. She saw a Nazgul preparing to shoot him and raised her gun promptly and dispatched him before the creature could squeeze a round. An arrow struck the Nazgul in the neck as she bolted towards Frank who was about to do something she had never seen him to do.

 _Kill_.

***********

  
He was not his brother.

He did not know how to kill. Taking a life was abhorrent to him. He had never understood how anyone could do it. He could never understand the power that one creature felt over another when he inflicted death. It had been shocking to discover how much skill Miranda had in this craft and though he accepted it, he was not comfortable with the idea that she had killed before. Even when Hans’ life had been taken, even when he saw the anguish Eric suffered when the woman Dominique was lost, he tried to think of a way out of their situation, something that did not require him to be at the place where he was now.

Then he saw Sam and suddenly everything changed.

He stood over the Nazgul called Morgul; temporarily stunned by the gun he had fired. Ringwraith or not, the creature had a physical form even in a phantom state that no one could see. Bullets may have been incapable of killing it but it was not above hurting the creature now that its master’s absence had robbed it of all its former invulnerability. The jewel glistened in his palm and yet he could feel the growing heat against the fabric of the handkerchief. It would not be long before he had to relinquish his hold of it.

"You fool," the Nazgul glared at him through the ruined mask that showed nothing of its face, just two crimson points of light that were his eyes. "You think these paltry pieces of lead will kill me? Do you think anything has changed? Your son is going to die and when he does, he will be ours. You have won nothing!"

Frank did not answer and brought his foot down on the creature’s face. He did not know if there were bones to break but the satisfying sound of something crunching beneath his boot gave him intense pleasure. He lowered himself onto his knees, oblivious to the gunfire and carnage-taking place around him. The Nazgul was still reeling from the attack but Frank knew he had little time. This creature would restore itself soon enough and then it would turn the tables on him. Tearing the remnants of the white mask from Morgul’s face, his palm recoiled as it felt cold flesh like that of a corpse in a morgue. It did not feel like flesh but Frank knew that in its own way it was.

He felt the bridge of a nose; shriveled skin and lips, thin like angry slashes. Fighting the revulsion at touching it, he felt the Nazgul’s hands wrapping around his own and reacted quickly pressing the Silmaril against the offending limbs. Morgul screamed loudly, a banshee’s wail that seemed to rise over the sound of chaos. Morgul’s scream allowed his fingers to find what he had been seeking. His finger’s slipped past teeth, pushing down a throat that was dry and devoid of moisture. This was a dead thing incapable of such processes. The light of the Silmaril was growing brighter, feeding of the dark energies until its light was beginning to press against the walls of the cavern.

"What are you doing!" Morgul managed to gasp as he felt his mouth being pried open.

"Showing you what Denethor’s weakling son is capable of," Frank hissed menacingly before shoving the Silmaril down the Nazgul’s throat.

He had no sooner released the jewel into the Nazgul’s body when Morgul's body spasm in agony, forgetting all about the human hovering over him as his hands flew to his throat. A gurgled scream escaped the Nazgul as he tried to eject the burning jewel from his mouth. However, Frank was not about to let Morgul escape his vengeance so easily. Frank grabbed the Nazgul’s chin and held his mouth closed, forcing such a scream of unadulterated pain that the other wraiths froze and stared in horror at what was being done to their leader.

  
Morgul struggled with superhuman strength but Frank had been pushed to such unbelievable rage that his own strength was holding his own as the Silmaril began to burn. Light began to seep past the crimson points of the Nazgul’s eyes. Energy gave Morgul visibility that had been denied him for more ages than Frank could possibly imagine. The faint outline of a man appeared, bony and skeletal, given shape by the increasing outpouring of power. Light escaped the fissures of his body, emanating from his eyes, from the orifices of his ears and finally through his mouth. It was so intense that Frank had to look away after while because its glare was more than his own eyes could stand.

Frank released the Nazgul and scrambled away as he saw the light beginning to burn through what passed for Morgul’s flesh. He watched in unbridled relish as he saw the Silmaril burning away the evil, disintegrating the creation of shadow and malice. Perhaps Morgul was truly incapable of dying but the Silmaril would ensure he would remember this journey to the shadow world. The wraith was screaming like a man set alight. Indeed he was Frank supposed as he watched dispassionately the pain the enemy was enduring. The fruit of the great trees had turned the Nazgul into a being of light. It was probably the only time a Nazgul could ever be viewed as a thing of beauty. A shape of blinding white light, writhing and screaming as phantom flesh was incinerated by the power of purity, strong and brilliant.

Morgul’s screams became guttural shrieks of torment as finally the light breached its confines and suddenly exploded through the room in a powerful wave, not unlike the one that they had experienced in its awakening. Everyone turned away from the epicenter, human, elf and Nazgul alike. For a moment, they were all trapped in the same emotion of awe and wonder. However, it was brief and when the light contracted again to more tolerable levels, Frank turned back to the place where Morgul had been. All that was left of the Nazgul, the Witch King of Angmar, was the unsullied masterpiece of Feanor’s genius, resting comfortably against the empty fabric of empty clothes.

Frank picked up the Silmaril and stood up to turn his gaze on the shocked Nazgul who was understandably shaken by what they had just seen.

"You can be killed," he said glaring at them. "If you don’t let us pass, you will die like he did."

The Nazgul looked at each other, trying to decide whether or not they would gamble their fates on such a formidable weapon. No one spoke as the battle drew to a stalemate.

"We will let you pass," one of them spoke, "but you will not escape this place alive. We may not be willing to risk ourselves but there are many beyond these walls that have been alerted to your presence. They are coming and you cannot stop them all. Like our brother has spoken before, you have won nothing."

"Come on," Frank said ignoring their posturing as he glanced briefly at the others. "We don’t have much time."

He looked over his shoulder and saw Miranda approaching Sam. Elladan and Elrohir had the deadly arrows with their explosive qualities at the wraiths. Now that they had something to fear, they were no longer so bold. Frank placed the Silmaril in its pouch and slipped it into his pocket because its work was far from done. The Nazgul were right, they still had to leave this place alive. He went to Miranda who had picked up Sam from the ground.

"I’ll take him," Frank said as he took his son in his arms. "You need to fight what’s coming up next."

Miranda nodded, staring at him with a mixture of awe and anxiety. She had loved him since the moment she laid eyes upon him but until now, never knew how much strength existed beneath the veneer of the civilized scholar. At this point in time, it exuded from him like raw power. It appeared that they had both been wearing masks as concealing as those worn by the Nazgul.

"Frank, Miranda!" Eric called out from the mouth of the cavern. "Let’s go!"

The moment dissipated and they hurried out first, leaving the Nazgul to glower in impotent fury. Their numbers had been reduced, with four attempting to pull themselves together in the shadow world, having been sent them by the explosive forces of the arrows and grenade launchers. The other’s fate was not so certain. Was he truly dead as the human claimed? There was finality to what had happened to Morgul that caused them to hold back until they were certain of his fate. Despite their devotion to their master, the Nazgul were bred with an innate need for survival. They knew that whilst their master lived, so would they. Prophecy had played a part in the Witch King’s death all those years ago in Pelennor. This was the first time that they faced the possibility that they could be destroyed forever, if that was indeed what had happened to their leader. Until they knew for certain, they would allow their underlings to act for them. It was a long way to the surface and the Uruks and the other denizens of Moria would soon be on the hunt.

It was only a matter of time.

************

 

The Nazgul were right, they were far from safe.

Miranda had taken the lead once again as they made their way to the lift, certain that the Nazgul’s threat was far from idle. The battle in the cavern had ensured that every Uruk Hai in the place knew what was happening and were no doubt closing in on them. They had to make it to the lift before those numbers overwhelmed them. Now that they had retrieved Sam and Pip, it was imperative that they escape. They had to find help for Sam before it was too late. Loading up the grenade launcher attached to the G36Ks, Miranda had every intention of blasting anything that got in their way to kingdom come.

Behind her, Frank was conscious of how warm Sam was against him. The moisture from his sweat drenched body was saturating Frank’s own clothes, making the latter even more fearful that Morgul had lied to him, that the time before the poison took Sam completely was even shorter than he had been led to believe. He tried not to think of what he had done back there in the cavern, that he was capable of such brutality even if it was justifiable and provoked. Knowing that he was capable of such darkness made him uncomfortable and Frank was certain that he would be thinking about this day for a long time to come.

Behind him Jason was ensuring that he stayed close to both Eric and Frank who were carrying children as they hurried up the hallway. So far they had seen no one but that was going to change. The strained expression on the faces of the elves told him that the enemy was coming. He had learnt not to understand this unique sight of theirs since this had all began. A part of Jason still had difficulty coming to grips with how much his life had changed in the last week. Not only was he called on to utilize the skills he had not had to use since his time in the service but he was coming to understand that his life would never again be the same.

The child called Pip took very much after his father. He could see it in the shape of the face and the in the eyes especially. The boy had not said very much since the cavern but was watching everything closely with wide eyes. His fear was palpable, quite understandably. He had clung to Eric tightly, drawing strength from the adult he had met only a short time ago. Eric knew that he would easily die before allowing any harm to come to Miranda’s child. This last week had been such a sobering experience. Before this, the only person who meant anything to him was Jason. He had family of course but true friends were a rare commodity with him. Now he had a sister and though that connection was not one of blood in this life, it felt no less powerful.

She was his sister in every way that mattered and Eric could not believe how good that felt.

Elladan could sense their approach. They were closing in on the company. The son of Elrond knew that if they were to make it to the place where they had first entered upon descending into Moria, they would be fortunate indeed. However, judging by the wound on Sam, it did not appear that luck was at all with them. Elladan did not wish to say how terrible the wound inflicted on the child was in actuality and that only their father had the skill to cure it completely. Neither Elrohir nor himself had been terribly interested in the healing arts despite Elrond’s best efforts to teach him. Eventually, Elrond had simply given up in exasperation and chosen to bestow his considerable knowledge on Estel and more recently on Estel’s reincarnation, Aaron Stone.

  
However, he knew he enough to see that a wound caused by a Morgul blade would consume the child long before they ever reached Valinor and their father. If he knew the herb lore of this world better, there was a chance he would be capable of stemming the flow of the poison but not enough for the child to last a sea voyage to the Undying Lands.

"Can you sense them?" Elrohir broke his concentration.

"Yes," Elladan nodded. "There are many. If we were better armed and in a less vulnerable position I might be incline to enjoy this."

"It would have been quite enjoyable," Elrohir grinned as he ran alongside his brother. "It has been long since we’ve been able to hunt such sport."

"I think we are about to gain more sport than we bargained," Elladan replied as the first sounds of movement became audible to their elven senses. So far they had not encountered anyone in these passages but he suspected that that would change once the paths they traveled widened. The narrow confinement made it difficult for the enemy to attack and with the Silmaril in their possession; it was best to wait until their field of vision widened. He could hear them moving beyond the tunnels they were crossing and judging by the number, there were many of them.

  
Suddenly, his sense of danger started screaming at him and Elladan looked over his shoulder long enough to see something at the far end of the tunnel. Was it Nazgul? Had they overcome their shock and decided that the Silmaril was worth the risk of Frank’s threat? He had barely a fraction of a second before he saw the silhouette of a weapon being raised by its Uruk Hai owner.

"GET DOWN!" He shouted in warning.

The explosion of bullets sailed overhead as they dropped to the ground. Jason immediately rolled onto his belly and released a deadly hail of his own. The projectiles surged forward, creating enough of a barrage to ensure that for a few seconds at least; the enemy would be forced to run. Those few seconds were all they had to clear this tunnel.

"Go!" He shouted. "I’ll cover you both!"

Elladan nodded just as Elrohir’s hand wrapped around his shoulder and helped to his feet. Jason waved them by as he loaded his weapon again to continue shooting. Eric and Frank had already hurried further up the tunnel, carrying their precious cargo with them. Elladan took a few steps ahead, putting a few paces between himself and Jason before he paused and looked at Elrohir.

"You go on," he told his brother. "I have one more of these explosive arrows left. I shall put it to good use to allow Jason to join us."

Elrohir was clearly unhappy with leaving him, even if it was for a short time. However, he could not fault Elladan reasoning and as much as he detested admitting it, Elladan was better with a bow than he.

"Do not miss."

"Do I ever?" Elladan joked.

  
Elrohir smiled faintly but tarried no longer and set off to catch up with the others.

  
Gunfire whizzing up and down the passage forced Elladan against the wall. The elf saw Jason slowly retreating but knew that he could not keep up this barrage much longer. The weapon he carried needed replenishing and when it was exhausted, the enemy would cut him to ribbons. Elladan did not give the human a warning; confident enough of his marksmanship to know that one was not needed. He armed his bow with the last of the explosives carried on the tip of an arrow, thinking how he would have liked these back in the day. It would have certainly made orc hunting a great deal more entertaining.

  
Releasing the bow, the arrow surged forward with a loud whoosh that was all but drowned out by the deafening roar of gunfire. No sooner than the arrow was released, he shouted at Jason a split second before it struck its target.

  
"Jason! You must come!"

Jason did not have time to respond but the explosion that sent a fireball surging through the passage was more than incentive enough to get him moving. The screams of the enemy were silenced by the blast that made Elladan flinch and long inwardly for the serenity of Valinor.

"Thanks!" Jason replied as the younger man ran towards him.

"Elves do not like to owe debts," Elladan retorted before they both hurried to join the others.

*********

  
After what seemed to be an eternity of dodging bullets, escaping the clutches of Uruk Hai who seemed to appear out of the shadows as if they had bled out of the walls, the company finally reached the hall of Dwarrodelf. The narrow passage to the lift lay across the floor scattered with debris and fragments of rock from their earlier firefight here. Miranda had checked her gun and knew that their ammunition was becoming dangerously low. All she had left were the grenade shells for the G36Ks and those were no good for close quarter’s combat. If it were not for the fact that Miranda was certain they had killed a good number of Uruks already, she would have been concerned.

"I’m almost out!" Jason whispered as Miranda stepped into the hall from the entry to the catacombs that ran through Moria like the honeycombs of a beehive.

"Here take mine," Eric said, surrendering what magazines he had left. "You’re a better shot anyway."

Jason took them without hesitation and noted the silence in hall that had been filled with Uruk Hai earlier. "I guess they must have decided to get out while the going was good," he remarked.

"I don’t think so," Frank replied staring at the ceiling and the walls of the halls. The darkness was making it difficult to see clearly but something was happening, all around them. He could hear it, soft sounds that reminded him of insects packed closely together, their tiny legs clawing over each other in some confined space.

"Its them daddy," Pip exclaimed from Eric’s arms.

"Them?" Miranda looked over her shoulder because she too could hear that eerie sound, "what’s them."

"Goblins," Elrohir said grimly before releasing a sigh of impending doom. He began arming his bow once more, taking a mental note of how many arrows there were in his quiver. Not enough he thought grimly but kept that observation to himself since it would avail them nothing. It would not change the outcome of the battle.

"What?" Eric stared at him incredulously. "Did you say goblins?"

"Is that any harder to believe than anything else we’ve seen?" Jason gave him look.

"Can we make a run for it?" Frank asked as he saw that swarm crawling down the walls and knew that there were not just dozens as there had been Uruk Hai. These numbered in the hundreds, at least.

"We’re bloody well going to try!" Miranda declared. "Everybody make for the lift. Anything gets in your way shoot it!"

Her blunt words inspired them to break into a run as they hurried across the great hall unaware that the same flight had taken place almost a hundred thousand years ago by some of their past incarnations. However, even as they ran, the sound of movement had evolved from a distant rumble to a dull roar rushing at them like a great wind. The true magnitude of their situation began to dawn on them as they saw the enemy closing in on them from all corners. Unlike the Uruk Hai, these creatures were not powerful or possessing of any warrior spirit. These were scavengers, accustomed to eating the rotten things of the world, carcasses, flyblown middens and when the need arose, each other.

"Jesus Christ," Eric whispered as the swarm began to surround them despite their efforts. It was like trying to hold back the tide.

  
Frank saw the goblins surrounding them in a circle of steel. They carried weapons of old, swords and maces, arrows and pikes. Against guns they were quite inferior but their numbers ensured that there would still be more of them when bullets were exhausted. The passageway to the lift was within sight but they would never cross the bodies arrayed against them to reach it. Frank looked at Sam who was longer reacting at all to anything and felt a fresh wave of despair in realizing that after everything they had fought to accomplish, they were going to fail within sight of escape.

There had to be another way.

The darkness crowded on his thoughts and made it difficult to think. He saw Miranda preparing for a fight. She was loading grenades into her gun, her expression determined and grim, masking the defeat that must surely be making itself apparent to her now. He thought of Pip in Eric’s arms, terrified and pale, dying in a place like this, entombed beneath miles of rock, never seeing the surface again. He and Sam were just children. Their lives were only beginning. They deserved better than a terrible end in the depths of the world, so far away from the sunlight.

 _Sunlight_.

The idea came to him a like a proverbial of lightning. Breathing hard, he scarcely believed that his could be the answer. They were completely surrounded now, unable to move. Miranda, Eric and Jason had raised their guns, preparing to release a barrage if necessary. Elladan and Elrohir were taking a similar stance with their arrows. Eric had lowered Pip down because he needed both hands. The youngest member of the Miller family made his way next to his father.

"Daddy," he said softly, "I’m scared."

"I know," Frank looked down at his son and smiled, "but we’re not finished yet."

He had good reason to be frightened as Frank looked up and saw that they were surrounded by goblins, their teeth snarling, held back only by the alien weapons they did not recognize. He saw serrated teeth, eyes that looked decidedly reptilian even if they were attached to roughly humanoid forms. As soon as their confusion evaporated as to whether or not their prey was a threat, they would and none of the humans or elves would survive that united assault.

Unless what he intended to do worked.

  
"Elrohir!" He called out.

The elf looked over his shoulder just in time to see something thrown at him. He caught it easily with one hand and realized it was the Silmaril in its leather pouch.

"Why?" Elrohir looked at him in confusion.

"Only an immortal can wield it remember?" Frank declared, reminding the elf what he had told them about the jewel.

"Yes, but..." Elrohir started to say when understanding flooded his consciousness. Dropping his bow immediately, he removed the Silmaril from its pouch and enclosed his fist around the smooth facets of the ancient jewel. He felt its warmth within his palm, filling him with its power. For an instant, it felt like he was home in Valinor for the jewel infused with the feeling of that place. Elrohir closed his eyes as the sensation washed over him and for a second, he could almost understand why so much blood had been shed for the possession of this jewel. It had its own life, hypnotic and awesome.

  
When he opened his eyes, he saw the light peeking through the cracks of his hand. The Silmaril had been borne of the great trees, Laurelin and Telperion; their light locked forever in the facets fashioned by Feanor. It was said that in their own way they lived. What should have been a thing of beauty had become the firebrand of great despair for those who could not see the miracle of it but sought to possess it like a master would possess a beast of burden. The great trees had brought light to a world encased by Morgoth’s darkness and in this place, this forgotten realm of the Durin’s folk, now claimed by the creatures he had left behind; it would bring forth that power again.

Elrohir opened his hand and the light of the Silmaril burst forth like a great wave, it swept through the room with such powerful brilliance that he was forced to look away from its center. It lit every corner of the great hall in a way it had never been. Those at the center of this white-hot emanation were forced to shield their eyes, however they were accustomed to the sunlight and fared better than the enemy surrounding them. Until now they had kept the Silmaril concealed, forgetting until Frank had used it against Morgul what power was held within its glittering heart.

It was time to unleash the fruit of the great trees.

A screech unlike anything they had heard before filled the enormous room. The circle of bodies around them began to recede as the goblins were faced with the brilliance of the Silmaril feeding off the darkness that was so much of their way of life in Moria. Corners began to fill with light, shapes hidden in silhouette began to gain definition and as the light absorbed the dark around it, the sphere around them grew wider and wider. The goblins were shrinking back, unable to bear the outpouring of radiating luminescence.

"Come on!" Miranda shouted at her companions now that the way was clear. The goblins were scrambling up the walls, running to the fissures in the rock to hide away from the Silmaril’s powerful glow. She saw a few Uruk Hai remaining to fight and decided to use what bullets she had to clear their way. The burst of bullets prompted the others into moving. Eric picked up Pip and followed Frank who was already running after his wife.

Jason and Elladan flanked Elrohir who held the Silmaril and though they kept their gazes averted so that their eyes were not overwhelmed by its power, it was still difficult to see very clearly. Somehow Elladan prompted him into moving. The aura from the Silmaril was so brilliant now it did not matter if he moved. Every corner of the hall was still bathed in its radiance. The goblins had retreated, their eyes unable to cope with the glaring light and their dark, evil natures ensured they would shrink away from something of such purity.

Gunfire broke out in the midst of this and Elrohir blinked to focus his eyes and saw Jason was shooting at the Uruks who were as not deterred by the Silmaril or the light around them. Elladan had gone into action as well, pausing long enough to release a few arrows in quick succession to reduce their numbers before resuming their dash for the lift. The Uruks were momentarily repelled as they entered the long corridor that would lead them to the final leg of their journey to surface. He was the last one in, avoiding gunfire and bullets that impacted against the wall and forced him to leap out of its way. Fragment of broken rock rained across his back before he was sheathed in the protection of the narrow walls.

"Everybody here?" Miranda demanded as she stopped to ensure that the rest of her companions had made it through as safely. She waited as she saw Frank and Eric pass holding both Sam and Pip in their arms. Elladan and Jason swept past her and finally Elrohir. They all seemed well, quite remarkable considering what they had just endured.

"Get to the lift," she told him as she loaded another grenade into her gun. The glow of the Silmaril had lessened now that that they had moved to a more confined space.

"What of you?" Elrohir said not about to go anywhere until he knew what she intended.

  
"I’m right behind you," she assured him. "I’m just going to make sure no one follows us in here."

He saw her raising a gun and nodded in understanding, confident that she would be capable of handling herself. She had proven as much thus far.

"We shall not leave without you," he declared before hurrying away.

Miranda did respond and turned to the end of the corridor emptying into the hall. She could hear the Uruks shouting orders at each other and certain that there were more on the way to prevent their escape to the surface. Perhaps the Nazgul had overcome their fear of the Silmaril. In any case, she was not going to give them the opportunity to hinder their escape. Aiming high, she pulled the trigger and flinched at the explosive sound of the grenade launching. She did not wait to see her handiwork, hurrying away from the blast as it rocked the corridor with an earth shuddering rumble. Fire and smoke chased her up the passage towards the lift. She was almost to the lips when she noted the noise of crumbling rock had finally ceased. Miranda looked over her shoulder and saw that the passage was sealed. No one else would be coming through for awhile.

"Miranda!" Frank was shouting to her to hurry.

The others were already inside the lift car, waiting. Miranda hastened her speed, fighting the urge to discard the gun because it weighted her down. However, she knew that they might encounter more of the enemy on the surface and prudently kept the weapon at her side for the moment. Within seconds of hearing her name uttered from her husband’s lips, she was at his side. Jason slammed his palm on the button once she was through and began the lift on its journey to the surface.

"I don’t believe it," Eric said exhaling loudly as the doors slid to a close and the lift car jerked upwards, "we’re still alive."

"Thanks to you," Elrohir said to Frank. "I must confess it would never had entered my thoughts to use the Silmaril in such a way. I kept thinking that it was the last remnants of Telperion and Laurelin still left on this earth and should be protected. I forgot Feanor’s creation needs no one’s protection."

"How’s Sam?" Miranda asked, already examining her son in Frank’s grip.

"He’s very sick," Frank shook his head. "We have to get him help fast."

"Mum," Pip tugged at his mother’s sleeve now that there was chance to do so, "is Sam going to be okay?"

"He’ll be fine," she replied but her eyes showed she was not so certain.

"Only my father can help him," Elladan declared, reminding them of the reality of their situation."

Frank met his gaze and answered purposefully, "then perhaps we should go see him."


	17. Epilogue: A Meeting of Legends

When the lift doors opened, depositing them on the surface once again, Miranda was certain that they would have to fight their way out of the mansion in the same manner they had departed the underground realm of Moria. However, instead of being confronted with the enemy, they instead face a corridor full of smoke. It appeared that the distraction they had used to lure the enemy away had taken on a life of its own and the smoke filling their noses with its noxious fumes was evidence of the raging inferno sweeping through the building. If there was anyone left in the building, they were most likely more concerned with saving their own skins rather than engaging the intruders who had caused the blaze in the first instance.

Nevertheless, Miranda was still ready for trouble when she emerged, her eyes trying its hardest to see through the smoke while the gun before her ensured that any danger would be met with deadly force. She stepped forward slowly, gesturing the others to stay back for the moment before placing her hand against the wall of the corridor and detecting immediately the heat that was radiating through the stone. Her pulse quickened, realising that all that stood between them and the inferno were the barrier of walls enclosing them on either side. The thickness of the smoke indicated the intensity of the fire. There was not much time. They had to get out while they still could.

"We have to hurry!" She shouted at the others. "The fire is on the other side of that wall!"

"We’re right behind you luv," Frank coughed as his eyes began to sting. "Go ahead and clear the way!"

Miranda nodded, trying to focus as she jogged down the corridor. The smoke thinned further along and allowed her to see shapes in the swirls of grey. Miranda glanced over her shoulder as she continued ahead, ensuring that the others were behind her. The smoke was burning its way through her lungs and as she forced herself not to cough, her thoughts filled with concerns with Sam. His weakened state could not endure the danger of smoke inhalation as well as the wounds he already suffered.

Reaching the corner, she saw the shape of someone moving past and acted before the new arrival could react. Slamming the butt of her weapon into his face, she felt the shattering of bone as he stumbled back. A running kick delivered swiftly after ensured that when he fell, he did not again get up. Miranda did not pause to check how badly she had injured him, caring only that the way for the others was clear. While Elladan and Elrohir could probably see better than she did, Miranda knew that they were almost out of arrows, if not already and the twins had no wish to use the guns.

Apparently, they found it lacking in elegance; she thought sarcastically.

Arriving at the foyer of the building, Miranda saw that it was the primary source of the fire. Flames from the explosion along the columns had spread across the roof. She looked up the staircase to the upper floors and knew that they were most likely lost to the fire. It was slowly making its way down the walls. She was rather surprised that no fire people were on the premises. After all, the Harz Mountains were not the peaks they were when Moria was inhabited by dwarfs. A fire like this could be seen from kilometres away.

"Hurry!" She called out to the others, not liking the flames overhead and what it was doing to the ceiling. "This place could collapse at any minute!"

Even as she spoke the words, she heard the creak of wood and knew that any minute was sooner than she liked. She could see floor boards and support beams disintegrating under tongues of orange flames. There was no one left in the place because the building was a blaze and unless they got out of here immediately, it would be the pyre of their deaths. The others reached her at that point and discovered the same thing she did. The door lay before them, unattended and the only means of escape. Miranda hurried out first, taking up her role to ensure the path before them was clear.

Beyond the door, she saw that there were fire crews outside, battling the fire from a safer distance because it was simply too dangerous for anyone to be inside the building. Undoubtedly, the ease of their exit from the lift to this point could be attributed to its evacuation. She saw henchman gathering outside, dealing with the locals and trying to portray the illusion that this mansion was nothing but the playground of a rich, corporate tycoon and not the haven for ancient creatures of shadow and evil. The confusion masked their exit as they hurried out the door into the grounds.

  
"Christ, I didn’t realise we made that much of a mess," Eric muttered as he paused and saw the amber glow that filled the night sky. The top of the mansion was ablaze despite the fire crew’s best efforts to douse the flames. Beyond the walls in the grounds of the estate, local authorities and Malcolm Industry’s staff generated a further sense of chaos that lent very well to their departure. It was an advantage that Miranda did not intend to waste.

"Never underestimate how useful explosives are," Miranda retorted as they bounded down the steps.

"Where is the van?" Frank asked, trying not to look when they passed the parking lot where Irina Sadko had met her end. He shuddered inwardly, remembering that the blood on his clothes was hers. He wondered what the Nazgul had done with the body. With the fire blazing through the building, he supposed it was a moot point since the fire was a convenient way for them to rid themselves of her corpse.

"Just beyond the tree line," Jason answered, taking a greedy gulp of fresh air. He saw the twins indulging themselves in the same way, trying to erase the fetid stench of dank air that had overwhelmed them below.

"Let’s get going," Frank urged, glancing briefly at Sam before experiencing a deep ache of worry for his son’s survival.

They slipped away from the grounds of the mansion, bathed in amber light and ensuring that they kept out of sight of the enemy. Even if they were discovered, Malcolm Industries would be reluctant to engage in any gunplay because of the civilian authorities that were present attempting to control the fire. For the moment at least, they had reached a curious sort of stalemate. Frank was certain that the company would continue to thrive and the enemy would seek other ways to reclaim their master. However, the next attempt would involve none of his family, of that he was certain.

****************

"Where are we going?" Jason asked as he slipped into the driver’s seat of the van upon reaching the vehicle.

Through the windscreen, he could see the amber radiance of the fire blazing across the sky. From a distance, the damage to the building did not seem so extreme and it only hastened his desire to get away from this place before the enemy recouped from their defeat and took up the chase again. Fortunately, they had provided enough distraction with the burning building to keep Malcolm Industry thugs from discovering their only means of escape.

"Hospital!" Miranda shouted out as she settled Pip in his seat.

"No!" Frank contradicted her immediately. "There’s an airfield outside Goslar. I remember seeing it when I took the Nazgul around town trying to stall for time. Head east."

"Airfield?" Miranda met her husband’s gaze and protested, "Frank, he needs a doctor now!"

"No doctor is going to save him luv," he declared as he put Sam across the seat. "Morgul said that there was a plane waiting for me to take the Silmaril to Valinor. We’re _making_ that trip."

"You wish to journey to Valinor in one of those metals beasts?" Elrohir said shocked beyond belief as the engines of the van rumbled to life beneath them and Eric slid the door closed. As far as he knew, only vessels built by the shipbuilding Teleri could find its way through the curtain between worlds.

"You said it yourself," Frank looked at him as he nestled himself into a seat and strapped the safety belt across his chair. "The only person who can save my son is your father. If it means taking a plane to Valinor, so be it but my son is not going to die, not like this, not as one of them."

There was such fierce determination in his voice that no one dared to say anything in contradiction and Miranda found herself staring at her husband with a feeling of intense love and admiration. He had always been strong but until now, Miranda had not guessed the truth depth of it. He may have known nothing about fighting, or handling a gun but there was power enough to move mountains and she could only stare at in him awe for a moment.

"We do as he says," Miranda agreed, offering her words as a testament to her faith in him.

"Is that possible?" Eric questioned as the car began to move.

"Morgul was quite certain that the Valar would be able detect the Silmaril," Frank explained. "If they detect us, they might let us through."

"And they might not," Elrohir returned. "The ways of the Valar cannot be predicted Frank. If you are wrong..."

"I do not think he is," Elladan broke in. "Earendil was able to find his way to the Undying Lands bearing one of the Silmaril in the First Age, it may be possible to reconstruct his feat in the same way. The Silmaril has been lost to the Valar for many ages but I would not be surprised if they were made aware of its presence when it was awoke."

  
"But we have to try," Pip spoke up for the first time. He knew it was rude to interrupt his elders but in the litany of words they were speaking, much of which he had not grasped, no one had mentioned anything about Sam. He looked at his brother and knew just as instinctively as his parents that if help were not found soon, Sam would die. The loss was almost beyond Pip’s ability to comprehend. It had been torture enough to be without Sam’s guidance while they were in that dark place but an entire lifetime without his brother? His mind could not begin to cope with such a loss. "If we don’t find help for Sam, he’ll die."

Pip’s words decided their course far effectively than any debate taking place before him.

"Out of the mouth of babes," Jason said from the driver’s seat.

"We have a problem though," Miranda remarked. "I don’t know how to fly a plane."

There was a slight pause before Eric spoke up reluctantly. "Well I’ve got a little flight time with a twin engine Cessna and if I had to, I could manage it. I took it up while I was dating this flight instructor."

"You mean Veronica?" Jason asked as he took the van down the mountain towards Goslar. "The tall blond with the big...."

"Smile," Eric cut him off and gave Miranda a sheepish look. "Big smile. The point is, I can fly a corporate jet which is most likely what this would be."

"We know you can do it," Frank said to him with confidence and because they had no choice but to trust Eric. However, Frank could see the affection in the journalist’s eyes not only for Miranda whom he now perceived as his sister but also her two children. He had no doubt that Eric would risk his own life at risk to save them. It was courage Frank could rely on and as he looked at the faces before him, ready to make this journey, he realised that his family had grown.

It was a good feeling.

*************

It was not difficult to find the airfield that was a short distance away from he Hildesheim Military Airfield. Budget cutbacks and changes to governmental policy had seen a large portion of the historical airfield cordoned off for commercial users who rented the space for a hefty sum. It was dark when the van drove through the gates surrounding the airfield that was little more than a hangar situated on a stretch of tarmac. In the distance, they could see the tower lights of airport controllers, supervising the arrival and departure of private aircraft. Malcolm Industries’ logo was emblazoned across the hangar doors and as they approached it, saw the silhouette of a Lear 45 jet.

Frank’s relief was intense, as he had feared Morgul might have been lying about the plane in an effort to force Frank to capitulate to his demands. Fortunately, the twin engine jet waited for them on the tarmac, its open hatchway furthering the proof of Morgul’s words. It was probably the only time the Nazgul had ever been truthful about anything. It was just as well; Sam could not afford to wait. Judging by the looks of it, the flight crew had prepared the craft in anticipation of his arrival although it was highly unlikely that they could be prepared for the unexpected turn of events that were about to be visited on them.

Miranda took Jason’s handgun and slapped a fresh clip into the chamber when the car came to a halt. She slid the gun into the waistband of her jeans and concealed it with her clothes.

"Let me handle this," Miranda replied.

"Go mum," Eric grinned, perfectly aware that she was more than capable of taking care of things. The remark brought a little chuckle from Pip whom Eric winked at conspiratorially as Miranda rolled her eyes and exited the van.

"Are you sure you going to be all right?" Jason asked, having become accustomed to providing her cover in such situations. Considering what Elladan and Elrohir told them about their past together, Jason supposed that he was karmically predisposed to being at her side during a fight.

"I’ll be okay," she answered and stepped out of the van.

Miranda brushed her hair back with her hands as she strode towards the jet, hoping she did not look nearly as dishevelled as she probably did. Glancing briefly at her nails she decided that when this was all over, she would need a manicure. Well, she was a woman after all. Her approach brought the presence of the pilot from the cockpit of the craft. He was dressed casually, a slightly overweight man with a balding head and a nose that had not been set right after being broken.

  
"Hello," Miranda greeted.

"This is a private airfield," he growled abruptly in his thick German accent while looking at her in a dismissive manner that Miranda did not like much. Chauvinist, she thought silently.

"It is?" Miranda nodded and went for her gun promptly and aimed it at his face. "Then I guess you better leave."

"What is this?" He stared down the gun barrel in confusion and fear.

  
"Your cue to go," she said firmly, "get out of here while you can still walk."

The man was not ready to leave just yet and there was a part of his brain that refused to be chased off by a woman. Miranda could see it in his eyes and it brought out the worst in her. Taking a step forward with far more speed than his lumbering bulk was capable of, she pressed the gun to his lips before the man had time to retreat or register the movement.

"I won’t say it again," she repeated herself with murder in her eyes. "Go now."

  
The man swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing furiously as he nodded in understanding with eyes wide to more than just the gun but the realisation that he was tempting fate with his death by this continued refusal. His eyes shifted past her to the van and more people emerging from it. There were enough of them for him to accept that even if he did not get his head blown off in an attempt to overpower this woman, he would not be able to get past her companions.

"Aright," he conceded, cursing in German as he did so, "just take it easy."

Miranda stepped back, keeping the gun trained at him still but with enough room for him to move. He gave her a look of utter contempt before hurrying away from the range of her gun. She did not bother to see how far he went because she knew his first impulse would be to call for help, for all the good it would do. By the time someone arrived on the scene; they would be in the air already. Eric was already hurrying up the steps leading to the plane’s open door.

"We don’t have a lot of time," Miranda said picking up Pip up.

"I know," Frank agreed. "Air traffic control is going to give us trouble." He remarked glancing at the tower in the distance. "We better make this quick. Everyone, inside."

"Where are we going mum?" Pip asked with question.

"We’re going on a little trip," Miranda smiled at her son and was overwhelmed by how good it felt to be with him and answer his questions again. "We’re going to see Elladan and Elrohir’s people so they can help Sam."

Pip looked at his father who was hurrying towards the plane carrying his older brother and hoped that mum was right. He should have been excited about riding in a plane but he could not be when Sam was not there to share it with him.

"Hey," Jason looked at the small boy, having an instinct of what was running through the young boy’s mind. "Your brother will be fine. You want to ride with me? I’m not good on a plane so I could use your help getting through it."

"Can I look at your gun?" Pip asked before looking up at Miranda. "Can I mum?"

"Look," she said with a hint of warning Jason, "not touch, clear?"

"Crystal," Jason answered, not about to provoke her maternal instinct. He had seen it at work and it was not a force he wanted to inflict upon himself. In truth, his aversion to high places was mostly limited to being in see through lifts and staring down from the edge of a great height. In planes, he did not feel as anxious but he saw Pip’s expression in regards to his brother and wished to do something to keep the child’s mind off his troubles. Christ knows he had been through enough of hell already.

Meanwhile Elladan and Elrohir approached the plane cautiously. They had seen many of these crafts sailing across the sky during their visit here but this was the first time either would be embarking on such a journey themselves. While there was an element of eagerness at this new experience, neither could deny their concerns either.

"Don’t worry," Jason grinned wickedly as he walked past them. "If we crash, we’ll be pulverised before we feel anything."

"That is comforting," Elladan said dryly.

*************

In anticipation of the journey that he would be making with Frank Miller as his passenger, the pilot who was so hastily driven off by Miranda had already lodged a flight path and acquired all the appropriate tower clearances. Morgul had been very confident that Frank would agree to the journey if Sam’s life hung in the balance and had no doubt seen to it that the plane to take him to Valinor would be ready as soon as he made the decision. Frank wondered what the Nazgul would have thought if he had seen how his plans had actually unfolded.

 _He can’t think anything_ , Frank thought to himself with a little smile of satisfaction, _because he’s dead_.

After a rather shaky take off owing to Eric’s unfamiliarity with the type of plane he was flying, they made their departure from the airstrip without incident. A flight plan had been lodged that took the plan through the Norwegian Sea. The Nazgul had a general approximation of where the barrier between worlds was said to have existed and had attempted to chart the journey utilising modern principles of navigation. Eric was able to follow the course that had been prepared but he noted the fuel it would take to get there and was concerned because the amount left no margin for error. If they did not find Valinor, they would have barely enough fuel to reach the Norwegian Islands of Svalbard. He did not voice this to the others because he knew it would change nothing. All were committed to getting Sam help and there was really no other choice but to find Valinor or die trying.

*************

The world changes. Even in Valinor.

For the past six months, life in Undying Lands had accustomed itself to Manwe’s earth shattering news that elves could once again go forth into the world, to explore Arda as they had done so many ages ago. Since that day, the elves had been sailing from the Bay of Eldamar in their ships bound for the modern world. They returned months later with tales of everything they had seen in Arda, not to mention a pictorial account following their discovery of all things Kodak.

There was a vitality surging through the Eldar these days, inspiring a burst of creative energy not seen for many ages. New books were being read, new stories told, ideas were spreading throughout the elves like wildfire and yet, with these changes also brought a deeper appreciation for the life they had in Valinor. While the modern world was full of wonders, the Eldar were still grateful that Valinor remained a constant and they returned to her joyfully, like children coming home to their mother after long trip away. This was precisely what the Valar had wished - to see their children evolve, not remain trapped in a microcosm where nothing changed and their culture stagnating.

There was a slight shift in the order of things today; whiff on the wind that told revealed to those who could recognise the signs, that today would not be like any other in recent weeks. For Gandalf the Grey, as he was known for most of the Third Age, he was overcome with a sudden need to take a trip and it was not a trip he wished to take alone. As always, the Maia travelled with his staff, robed in white, making his way from the Gardens of Lorien to the city of Tirion. He had set out a number of days ago in anticipation of the one that was finally here.

His destination was the home of the Ringbearer, build there by the elves to accommodate the Ringbearer and her foster parents shortly after their arrival. It was quite a fortuitous journey for him because he knew for a fact that all the parties he wished to see were at the Ringbearer’s home. Galadriel, the Noldor daughter who had ruled as leader of the elves in Middle Earth for much of the Third Age, had appraised him of the situation. Those he was going to see had faint inklings that something was afoot but would not have the full scope of it until he revealed it to them.

The house sat at the edge of Tirion and was high enough to be afforded a panoramic view of the Pelori Mountains as well as the Bay of Eldamar and the distant horizon of Tol Eressea. Like all elven constructs, it was a thing of beauty, ornate in its designed by very much in keeping with the lands around it. If one did not know better, it would be so easy to believe that the house was something grown not fashioned by tools and craftsman. It was a testament to their artistry that this was a difficult thing to judge.

When he finally stood at the front door, he could hear the sounds within and knew the company within was assembled. It was early in the morning and the sounds of the Valar singing was still resonating in his ears. It seemed to add to the beauty of the day with its bright sunny heat a promise of good tidings.

"Gandalf!" Tory exclaimed when she opened the door and found the old man standing before her. Without hesitation, she greeted the old wizard with a warm hug and a delighted smile of genuine pleasure.

"Hello my dear," Gandalf greeted, "I hope this isn’t too much of an imposition, my dropping in like this."

"Don’t be silly," Tory gave him a look as she invited him into the house. "You know you’re always welcome here."

"It is nevertheless impolite to simply arrive unannounced," he reminded.

"I’m not going to argue with you because it’s pointless," Tory declared and it really was. When it came to verbal jousting, Gandalf was an absolute master at it. What a barrister he would have been, she had often thought. "You’re just in time, we’re sitting down to breakfast. Bryan and the others got home last night, so we’ve got plenty to spare."

"Ah," Gandalf nodded, aware that Bryan, Legolas and Aaron had made a journey to Formenos recently. It was rather fortunate because it ensured that they would all be together when he made his revelation for what taking place this day.

Tory led him through the house to the kitchen where the remaining members of the Fellowship were gathered around the table breakfasting. Despite his origins as a Maiar spirit and a servant of Manwe, there was a part of Gandalf who felt exceedingly human when was in the company of these men. Seeing them together drove him deep into the past and reminded him of the Fellowship and the history he was apart of. By the grace of Eru, those who were lost were now returned to them and it had surprised Gandalf immensely to realise how much he had missed them and how grateful he was to have them in his life again.

Aaron Stone was the reincarnation of Aragorn Elessar, the High King of Gondor and his friend, Strider. The Elfstone had solidified the fractured kingdom of his ancestors into something that lasted for a thousand years until the shifting sands of the world brought on the new dark age, long after everything of Middle-earth was dead and forgotten. Even in his latest guise, Aaron was still very much that man even if he was not the woodsman that Aragorn had been. His strength was that of a healer and on this day, it would be a talent put to good use.

Beside Aaron was Bryan Miller, who wore the face of a warrior as formidable as he was in this life. Bryan had been Boromir, son of Denethor, Captain of Gondor. While Boromir had succumbed to the lure of the ring, Bryan had redeemed his ancient self by protecting Fredrica Bailey, the young girl who he was now raising like his own child. When Gandalf looked at Bryan, there was so much of Boromir in him that it was uncanny. However, there was also wisdom in Bryan that was lacking in Boromir. It was an understanding that power was not often the path to salvation and sometimes the only way to resist temptation was to uphold the oaths made to oneself.

Fredrica Bailey who was called Fred by all who knew her was not entirely Frodo Baggins. There was something about her Gandalf could not comprehend, a powerful presence in her young body that he could not explain. Even his lord and master Manwe had sensed something in the child he could not fathom. Something that was beyond a Valar’s ability to explain was not to be taken lightly. At first, Gandalf had believed it was a product of Frodo’s connection to Sauron but as time hurtled past, he had begun to understand it had little to do with evil at all. Perhaps it had always been there, hidden within the indomitable spirit of Frodo’s character, a force for good that enhanced the hobbit’s natural courage.

Joining them at the table this morning was Legolas Greenleaf, son of Thranduil and master archer who was just as happy to have returned to him his old friends as Gandalf himself. Since Aaron and Bryan’s arrival in Valinor, it was Legolas who had aided their adjustment to life here and it was a common sight to see the trio embarking on one adventure after another as they explored the length and breadth of this island.

"Gandalf!" Fred said exuberantly upon seeing him enter the kitchen with Tory and promptly jumped off her chair so that she could hug him.

"Hello Fred," Gandalf replied happy to see the child and was greeted with a similar chorus of salutations from all around the table.

"Are you here about what happened with Fred and Galadriel?" Bryan asked once the cordialities were completed. When he had returned to find out that Fred had asked to see Galadriel, he had been concerned that some dark force was putting the child under threat again.

"Not at all," Gandalf answered, sitting down on the table and keeping Fred on his lap.

"He has that look about him," Legolas’ said with an arched brow.

"Yeah," Aaron nodded in agreement. "He does."

"He has a look?" Tory asked the three men who were smirking with some hidden knowledge, with some annoyance because she could not see what they were referring to.

"Yeah luv," Bryan said with a smile, as he looked at Gandalf in smug satisfaction, "the one that means this isn’t a social call."

"Actually," Gandalf replied, "I had called on you to invite to take a little trip with me."

"Gandalf," Legolas stared at him critically, "the last time you invited anyone to take a trip with you, poor Bilbo Baggins found himself surrounded by dwarfs and lost in the Lonely Mountains with the One Ring."

"You’re kidding," Aaron looked at Legolas, enjoying immensely the growing annoyance on Gandalf’s face.

"They did not label him as the disturber of the peace in the Shire for nothing," Legolas chuckled.

"Disturber of the peace?" Bryan looked at Gandalf and laughed.

"If you are finished," Gandalf silenced them all with a good-natured rumble of annoyance.

"Sorry," Aaron declared conciliatorily, "so where are we going?"

"Nowhere that involves a dragon if that makes you feel better," Gandalf retorted. "However, we do not have time to waste. This is a business that requires the presence of the Fellowship, Fred as well."

"Can you tell us where?" Bryan questioned further. If there was trouble ahead, he did not want Fred anywhere near it. She had been living a normal and safe life since arriving in Valinor and Bryan intended to see to it that her existence remained that way. He had promised to keep her safe and it was not a responsibility he took lightly. He simply did not expect that he would fall in love with the child and regard her as the daughter he might have had if his life had gone differently.

Gandalf was more than aware of Bryan’s concerns and spoke quickly to alleviate his worries for Fred, "it is perfectly safe Bryan, there is no danger but Fred’s presence is required."

"Alright," Bryan answered because he trusted the old man and counted Gandalf as one of his friends "I take it you want to get going as soon as possible."

"Yes," Gandalf nodded. "The situation is somewhat grave even if there is no danger. We must go soon and Aaron," he looked at Aragorn’s present incarnation, "we will need your skills as a healer."

*************

 

Through the window of the cabin, Miranda could see the retreat of twilight in the sky. The dawn was approaching in the horizon, replacing the dark canopy of stars with reassuring comfort of a new day. She wished she could have slept during the flight but it was not possible when Sam was so ill. Sitting next to Sam, she stroked his brow trying to ignore the knots in her stomach at the heat of his skin and the shuddering of his small body as he battled against things she could not imagine. This was not right, she told herself. Sam should not be fighting this battle. She was his mother. It was her responsibility to protect him from such horrors. How on Earth had she failed so miserably?

Frank too did not sleep. He sat across her, meeting her eyes and showing her his empathy for her feelings. The same pained expression filled his face when he looked at Sam and both of them felt despair at the thought that they might not be able to save their first born.

"My father will know how to help him," Elrohir spoke up from his seat. Next to him, Elladan had taken a moment to rest even though elves did not sleep the way humans did. Elrohir sensed that his brother’s lapse into slumber had more to do with the flight they were taking rather than the need for rest. This journey through the clouds was very disconcerting and sleep would allow him an escape for a brief time.

"Are you certain?" Miranda asked anxiously, her voice choking with emotion. "I’m so afraid that we’re not going to get here in time. He’s so warm and he’s been this way for some time. If his temperature isn’t lowered soon, it could be harm him permanently."

"My father has experience in dealing with the poisons of a Morgul blade," Elrohir reassured him. "It will be good to see him again. I must say I am impressed by the speed of this vessel. I had not expected see my family for many months. A voyage such as this would have taken weeks."

  
"Welcome to the 21st century," Jason added with a smile.

"This place we’re going," Frank asked, "my brother is happy there?"

"Yes," Elrohir nodded. "I believe so. He has lived a life steeped in violence. I believe the Undying Lands has allowed him some measure of peace."

"Will we be allowed to leave, once we’ve arrived?" Jason asked. After all this talk about going to Valinor, it had never been mentioned whether or not they could leave. As it was, they were so far away from land that it gave Jason a deep sense of concern. He knew roughly what direction they headed and was certain that they had flown past the Norwegian Sea. If they kept travelling in this direction, they would find themselves in the Artic Circle.

"Certainly," Elrohir answered supposing that it was a valid concern. In the ages past, the Valar were reluctant to allow the departure from their shores but with the new decree by Manwe and so many of the elves leaving to discover the modern world, such concerns seemed archaic.

"Will you be able to send word to my brother?" Frank asked.

"Of course," the elf answered. "It will be done as soon as your son is taken care of."

Suddenly, a shadow fell over the cabin as if the sunlight had been suddenly stolen away. Miranda looked out the window and to see the sudden increase in clouds sweeping past the body of the plane. It also grew noticeably cooler with a chill biting into her skin.

"The weather’s changed," Frank declared.

"Too suddenly," Elrohir remarked.

"We might have just flown into some thick cloud cover," Frank explained, aware that the elves were not particularly comfortable with air travel.

"Jason," Miranda looked at the younger man. "Can you go up to the cockpit and see what’s happening?"

"Sure," the younger man answered rising out of his seat. "Its about time I checked up on him anyway. Make sure he’s not crashing us into the sea or anything."

"Could you not use the word ‘crash’?" Frank gave him a look.

Jason chuckled and followed the aisle into the cabin where the cockpit was situated. However, his amusement was short lived upon arriving at the cockpit. Eric was staring ahead with a grim expression on his face. Jason could understand his feelings as he stared through the glass at the wall of thick grey before them. Even as the distance between the plane and cloud mass narrowed, Jason could feel the first tremors shuddering through the craft as the effects of the storm began to reach them. He stared at the swirling mass of violent clouds, watching the electricity rippling across it in spidery tentacles of energy and felt his stomach tighten in fear.

"We’re not going through there are we?" Jason asked in muted shock.

"Our course takes right through it," Eric answered gravely, not moving his eyes away from the sight. "We don’t have enough fuel to get back. Either we go through that and find Valinor or we crash into the sea."

As Jason stared at the wall of grey sweeping forward, preparing to overwhelm them with its power, he wondered if they would not do so anyway.

************

The sun had risen high in the afternoon sky and the company had made the journey riding on horses that borne them swiftly to the coast of Valinor. Though it would have taken them considerable time to make the journey, there seemed to be a power greater than their own facilitating their need to reach the Bay of Eldamar swiftly. Gandalf did not reveal what this power might be but Aaron suspected the hand of the Valar in this because it felt as if time had slowed to allow them to reach their destination in good stead. After almost a year and half living in this strange, mythical world, Aaron had found the Valar delighted in the manner in which they allowed their presence to be felt. There also seemed to be some urgency in the reason for their journey, a possibility given further credence by the request of his doctor’s bag.

It was well past midday when the coast of Eldamar came into view. The Bay of Eldamar, with its sapphire coloured water greeted the travellers and afforded them with a spectacular view of Tol Eressea and the Enchanted Isles beyond it. From their vantagepoint, they could see the boats lining the coastline, the Teleri engaging in the business of shipbuilding with great excitement now that the elves were allowed to sail the oceans beyond Valinor. Since Manwe’s announcement, the Teleri had thrown themselves into their craft with a renewed sense of purpose and the fruits of their labour could be seen in the newly constructed ships that had now been put to sea.

"We shall wait here," Gandalf said as they arrived at foot of the Pelori Mountains.

"Wait for what?" Bryan looked at the wizard in question, uncertain how they had made the trip here so quickly. "Why is it so important that we be here and how the bloody hell did we get here so fast?"

"Because they are coming," Fred volunteered.

"They?" Aaron stared at the little girl and at Gandalf simultaneously.

"The rest of our company," Gandalf offered cryptically.

"The boy," Fred said with a smile and exchanged a knowing look with Gandalf that left all others in their presence bewildered.

"The rest of our company Gandalf?" Legolas declared, "we are all here. Whom else should we expect...." the elf suddenly went silent and his gaze intensified into a frown as he stared at the open sea with an expression both Bryan and Aaron had recognised as a sign of caution.

"What is it?" Aaron asked.

"I hear something," Legolas replied, dismounting his horse and walking forward across the grassy plain. His eyes did not shift from the horizon where Eldamar lay. The sound was too alien for Valinor and yet Legolas had sworn he had heard it before. He searched his memory for it and knew that despite its familiarity, there was also some difference.

"What do you hearing?" Bryan demanded.

However, it was Fred who answered, "they’ve come at last."

***********

They were going to die.

Of this Eric no longer had any doubt as he continued to struggle against the barrier of formidable clouds that were threatening to plunge the plane into the sea. Across the cockpit, he could see the rain battering relentlessly at the glass while fierce winds gripped the plane in extreme violence. Even though it was freezing in the plane, there was sweat running down his brow as he wrestled the controls, determined to keep the craft aloft. Jason was seated in the copilot’s seat, beyond frightened and Eric had trouble believing that a man who had no trouble gunning down Uruk Hai or challenging Nazgul could turn white at the turbulence in a plane. However, considering that the plane’s fuel was dwindling and the engines would cut out soon after, he supposed that it was not an unjustifiable for Jason to feel this way.

"We going to die," Jason muttered, trying not to look out the cockpit.

"No we’re not," Eric said with more confidence than he felt and his palms sweating against the controls would indicate otherwise. The others had wisely strapped themselves into their seats and Eric hoped that their nerves were just as easily restrained because if Jason was any indication, they were going to be in a sorry state. "We just have to get through this cloud cover!"

Another powerful lurch made Eric’s heart pound harder and he struggled to keep the craft’s nose up. He had never flown in a storm before and certainly not one of this intensity. He could see nothing of the sky as the plane was surrounded completely by this thick cloud that almost resembled dark smoke. The plane was being tossed around in this fierce wind like a plastic bag in a windstorm and there was only so much turbulence the jet could take before its structure gave way. Each groan he heard in the cabin and the fuselage beyond it reinforced the fear that this eventuality was becoming a reality.

Suddenly a bolt of lighting came out of nowhere and struck the plane’s right engine. Eric did not see the damage but he registered the destruction of the engine with the sudden loss of altitude. He could feel the static electricity passing through the air as charged particles swept through the craft, impotently because there had been no opportunity for the current to reach earth. The plane dipped dangerously to one side and he could hear the indignant and fearful cries of his companions behind him.

"What the hell?" Jason shouted as the plane began descending.

"We’ve lost an engine!" Eric shouted as he struggled to compensate for the loss.

"Jesus!" Jason cried out, his fingers digging into the cushioned seat.

  
Fortunately the engines on a Lear jet were located in the rear which made there was little wing damage. If it were a 747 who wore their turbines on their wing, they would already be spiralling towards the sea. However, this was only a minor advantage because the turbulence outside made even gliding near impossible.

"What the hell is happening?" Frank’s voice suddenly demanded behind him.

"Get back to your bloody seat!" Eric snapped. "Do you know dangerous it is for you to be walking around?"

"Compared to crashing into the sea? Not much!" Frank retorted.

"Look!" Jason exclaimed, snapping both men out of their argument.

"What?" Eric looked forward and suddenly saw the clouds around the plane began to thin.

Ahead of him, he could see the brilliant hues of sunshine pouring through the grey cumulus. The droplets of rain that were evaporating on the cockpit glass by the velocity of the wind were no longer being replace by more. The ferocity of the storm, its sheets of driving rain and bolts of lethal lightning had suddenly began to dissipate Almost as abruptly as they had entered the storm, they were suddenly past it as clear skies waited for them beyond. Frank, Eric and Jason were confronted with a sea so blue that it took the breath away and in the distance, they could see the islands that Elladan and Elrohir had described with such affection.

"Christ," Jason declared, his voice filled with wonder. "It’s there. Its really there."

"The storm," Frank guessed quickly, his hands leaning against both their seats, "it must be the barrier that keeps Valinor from our world. The Valar let us through," he said with rising pleasure, "Morgul was right. They knew the Silmaril was coming."

"We’re going to make it," Jason grinned happily. "We going to get there."

Eric was about to add to Jason’s declaration that he would now be able to glide the plane to the ground now that the turbulence of the storm had left them when suddenly, a small light began flashing on the cockpit control panel. His eyes immediately turned to it and as he realised the reason for this, he let out a visible groan of exasperation.

  
"Oh hell," he muttered, wondering if _all_ the Fates were against them today. They were about to run out of fuel.

**********

 

"Jesus Christ," Aaron exclaimed when the sound that Legolas was listening to so intently finally became audible to human ear. "Is that a plane?"

"It is," Bryan nodded joining Legolas as they stared into the sky trying to catch sight of the craft. "How is that possible?"

"Can you see them?" Aaron asked the elf whose eyesight was far keener than all those present.

"Yes," he nodded, "their craft is approaching. You will see it soon enough."

Bryan felt Fred’s hand in his and looked down to see the little girl standing next to him. His jaded and cynical heart leapt in affection as she gave him a look that almost bordered on reassurance. There were times when Bryan had this notion that Fred knew more about things than she let on. "Is that them?"

"Yes," she nodded. "They’ll be here soon."

"Who?" Aaron asked again.

Gandalf did not respond and the desire to question the wizard further was washed away with distant sound of the approaching plane became a loud roar that rumbled across the sky. All eyes shifted to the sky as the first sign of the craft in question came into view. The sunlight bounced off the gleaming metal as it streaked across the sky like a descending comet. From their position at the base of the mountains, they could see the emergence of other elves appearing to watch the spectacle of the approaching craft.

"Is it me or is that plane not flying straight?" Aaron asked as he noted that there was something about the way the plane was descending that did not appear quite right.

"They’re having trouble keeping the nose up," Bryan replied as he squinted his eyes to get a better look. The plane had cleared the Enchanted Isle and was presently making its way across Tol Eressea. It was not far from the coast but its descent gave those who were watching good reason for concern.

Suddenly, the loud rumble died and the air was still with silence.

"Bugger," Bryan said softly.

"What just happened?" Aaron looked at him with concern.

"Their engines just died," Bryan replied, "as well as any hope of soft landing. They’re gliding at the moment."

"They are coming this way," Legolas declared.

The jet surged across the sky and Bryan observed that its pilot had attempted to control their descent even if the craft was staying aloft with only the power of the wind. He could see the landing gears being released as wheels lowered from the belly of what appeared to be a Lear jet. There was no runway of any kind and it appeared that the site that Gandalf had chosen to pause was the only stretch of even land for some distance. If the plane was going to land anywhere it was going to be here.

They took themselves to safety, watching in a mixture of horror and fascination as the plan began its gradual descent, sailing over the island of Tol Eressea and reaching at last the shores of Valinor. Those who had been watching the plane’s approach on the shore could see clearly the underside of the craft as it flew above them. The plane glided soundlessly overhead and continued its gradual descent with flaps adjusting to decrease its landing velocity.

The Fellowship watched as the plane finally touched down, its front wheel digging immediately into the soft earth, farrowing the ground like a plough. The back wheels primarily designed for use on a hard bitumen tarmac did not fare so well and caused the plane to skid. The jet spun around at a 90-degree angle but this sudden change in direction did not halt its progress forward. It continued across the ground, putting dangerous pressure on the wheels as they were dragged through dirt and vegetation. The right wing speared the soil, causing the plane to jerk to a stop briefly before its velocity resumed its onslaught. A terrible rip of metal saw the wing torn in mid section as one of the wheels buckled and drove what remained of the wing deep into the earth.

  
The plane was almost spun around again but this time, as it made another spectacular arc, the wing acted as an anchor and finally brought them to a halt. The craft was in a sorry state by this point, with debris and deep farrows left behind in the wake of its tumultuous landing. No sooner than it had stopped, Aaron was running forward, having grabbed his medical bag when he realised the plane was going to crash. Legolas hurried after the doctor, with Bryan lingering long enough to order Fred to stay with Gandalf while they investigated.

"Don’t worry," Gandalf said to Fred who looked somewhat concerned. "They’re fine."

***********

They were alive but not fine.

After the landing they had been forced to endure Frank was rather certain that he would not be flying for a long time and judging by the ashen expression on the twin’s face, it would be never for them. Frank was the first on his feet after they had made their landing, ensuring that no one was badly injured. Miranda sported a dark bruise on the side of her face because she had been slammed against the wall when the wheel had buckled. She had somehow managed to hold on to Sam who had been fortunately oblivious during their landing. Pip was in his seat across Miranda, crying visibly from the terror of their descent but he seemed no worse for that. Frank let out a sigh and walked forward uneasily, having sprained his ankle during the turbulence journey across the ground.

"Is everyone all right?" Frank asked as Jason and Eric went to open the door of the craft.

"We’re fine," Miranda nodded breathlessly, looking a little pale after their nerve-racking experience.

"I shall never board one of these vessels again," Elrohir managed to say.

"I think I am going to be sick," Elladan added, his face a slight shade of green in contrast to his brother’s paler face.

Frank almost laughed but chose instead to underdo Pip’s seat belt to comfort his terrified son. The boy wrapped his arms around his father’s neck and allowed his exhausted tears to escape him.

  
"We’re safe now Pip," Frank declared. "We’re safe."

Jason and Eric had made their way to the front of the cabin, determined to vacate the premises as soon as possible. The sound of the plane’s cabin door opening by Eric soon captured their attention and the new voice entered their hearing.

"Any injured in here?" A man who was clearly an American asked as he paused in front of Jason and Eric. "I’m a doctor."

"It is good to see you Aaron," Elrohir greeted and Aaron crossed the floor to meet the elf in a brotherly embrace.

"You guys know how to make a dramatic entrance," Aaron grinned, glad to see that twins unhurt by the crash landing.

"Aaron," Elladan spoke up. "The boy needs help immediately. He has been stabbed with a Morgul blade."

Aaron crossed the floor of the ruined plane in three easy steps and was soon at Sam’s side.

"Can you help him?" Miranda spoke, nearly terrified to ask in case they were wrong about a cure existing in Valinor.

Aaron did not answer and immediately began examining the boy.

"Eomer!" Legolas exclaimed with happiness as he entered the plane and cast his eyes upon Eric, switching to English so that he could be understood. "You are Eomer and you are here too Merry?" He stared at Jason in surprise and pleasure.

"Please,’ Jason flinched aware that this elf must have known both his and Eric’s past incarnation if the joy Jason saw in his eyes was any indication. "My name is Jason."

"Jason it is," Legolas said not caring and embraced Jason before the latter could protest. Legolas finally understood why Gandalf had claimed that their company was coming. Another member of the Fellowship had returned to them. That could only be the cause of celebration.

"This is Legolas," Elladan introduced. "As you might have guessed, he is one of the Nine Walkers, the Fellowship of whom you were apart."

"I guessed," Jason replied, a little overwhelmed by the delight he could see in the blond elf’s eyes and was a little uncertain as to how to respond.

  
"We can talk of this later," Legolas spoke up seeing his discomfiture. "It appears one of your company is need of help."

"Can he help?" Eric asked referring to Aaron who was hunched over Sam at present.

  
"I believe he can," Legolas replied and then added, "if not we will find Lord Elrond."

At that moment, Bryan entered the plane and caught sight of Frank. The former MI6 agent’s jaw dropped in astonishment at the sight of his brother standing next to his wife and child, their eyes fixed on what Aaron was doing. It took a further second to register that the patient Aaron was working on so diligently was Sam, his nephew. His mind became a storm of thoughts as he tried to understand how this was possible.

  
"Frank!" Bryan exclaimed in a mixture of shock and joy.

Frank looked up and saw Bryan with a happy grin plastered across his face as he approached. Bryan did not look at all changed though his hair had grown a little longer and seemed more unruly than the regulation type haircuts that was a product of his military conditioning. It was obvious that Bryan was delighted to see him as unconcealed bursts of emotion were a rare thing where his brother was concerned.

"What are you doing here?" Bryan asked, his question following a hard embrace.

"Look there’ll be time for reunions later," Aaron suddenly spoke up abruptly, "we need to get this child to Elrond immediately."

"How bad is he?" Frank asked, ignoring Bryan for the moment because they would have words later.

"Your son’s strong and he’s fighting it but it’s wearing him down. Whatever is in this ‘Morgul blade’, it’s overwhelming him and I think there may even be a piece of it lodged inside him. I’ve given him something to slow it down but its not going to be enough and I don’t have the skill to treat something like this. Its not a simple matter of removing the blade, there’s magic to it I can’t quite grasp yet. He needs to go Elrond, now."

"I shall take him," Legolas offered.

"Wait," Miranda interrupted. She was reluctant to let Sam out of her sight again so soon after they had moved heaven and earth to rescue them from the Nazgul’s hands.

"It will be alright," Bryan reassured her. "Legolas is the best rider here. He’ll get Sammie to Elrond in good time. You can trust him."

"My lady," Legolas met her gaze and said with a smile, "it please me to see you again. You have my word that no harm will come to your son in my keep but we must hurry. Time grows short if he has met the blade of the Nazgul."

Miranda was about to question his remark about having seen her before until she realised that he was speaking of Eowyn, not Miranda. His blue eyes reached into her soul with its sincerity and if Miranda still had trouble with that, she knew that Bryan would never vouch for him otherwise.

"Take him," Frank answered while she was debating this. "Get him the help he needs."

Legolas nodded as Aaron picked up Sam and handed the sickly child to him. Legolas saw the face before him and could not help smile faintly, "it is a day of surprises then, is it not little one?" He thought of the brave little hobbit that had followed his master into the darkest place in the world and prevailed. Legolas was determined that in this life, his strong spirit would find its way into the light again. "I will go immediately and wait for your arrival at Lord Elrond’s house."

"We’ll be right behind you," Aaron replied. "We need to get more horses down here anyway."

Legolas swept out of the plane with the others following him quickly.

"Is he going to be all right?" Fred asked the moment she saw Legolas with the boy she had been seeing her dreams.

"He is very ill," Legolas offered as he made for his horse. "Gandalf, I think you should come with me. Lord Elrond may need your counsel in the healing of this child."

"I will go," Gandalf smiled and looked at the others who had arrived, "Aaron, Bryan, please see to our new arrivals and meet us in Lord Elrond’s home. This wound may require both our skills to mend."

"He’s very tired Gandalf," Fred reminded.

  
"I know," Gandalf nodded in understanding, aware of the almost symbiotic connection these two souls had to each other. "We will allow him to rest."

Miranda stepped forward, not understanding how this little girl whom Sam had never seen before could make such a statement.

"I’m Sam’s mother," she looked at Fred. "How do you know he’s tired sweetheart?"

"Because," Fred smiled at the woman whose golden haired glimmered with sunshine and reminded her of Galadriel’s own spectacular locks, "he’s a ringbearer too. Like me."

"We must go," Legolas said having already mounted his horse. "Gandalf?"

"We will see you soon," Gandalf said to the others and mounted his horse, a descendant of the great Shadowfax and set off towards on their journey.

Frank and Miranda watched as the two figures rode off into the distance, carrying Sam with them and all their hopes for his safety. Frank embraced his wife and shared a moment of intimacy as he gave her wanning strength the support of his faith that Sam would be healed and returned to them whole. It was good to be relieved of this terrible foreboding that had been a constant ever since they had found Sam. For the first time, there was real hope of his survival.

"How did you get here?" Bryan asked, now that there was time for questions.

Frank turned to face his brother before throwing a fist squarely at Bryan’s face.

"What am I doing here? I’ll tell you what I’m doing here you stupid prat!" Frank sputtered trying to think of more abusive things to hurl at his brother much to the astonishment of everyone present.

"What’s wrong with you?" Bryan shouted indignantly as he recovered from the physical attack and tried to defend himself from the more cutting verbal barrage, "you could have broken my nose!"

"I would need a bloody cricket bat to break that nose!" Frank snapped, "and if I’m lucky I might get what is left of your brain!"

"What?" Bryan stared at him stunned.

"Do you have any idea what we’ve gone through this week? You said you had people chasing you. You didn’t tell me you had a crazed pack of Nazgul hunting you down so that they can free their master! You could have given us some bloody idea what might be coming after us! Do you have any idea what it took to kill one of those things?"

"I didn’t think they’d come after you!" Bryan protested. "I swear I thought you were safe."

"I am disowning you! You’re not my brother anymore!" Frank shouted, still riding a wave of furious indignation where nothing he said meant anything but felt good to vent nevertheless. "You are some git who just happened to be in my mum’s house."

"Frank I’m sorry," Bryan tried to explain himself. "I really didn’t think..."

"You never think!" Frank declared. "In fact, didn’t I tell you to stop doing that all together? You’re not very good at it!"

"Frank," Miranda interjected feeling some sympathy for Bryan. In truth, if the Silmaril had not entered their lives, it was very likely the Nazgul would have never found them.

"No, no," Aaron said to her quietly, "let him continue. This is kind of entertaining."

"Are you trying to be funny?" Miranda looked at him and saw that his blue eyes were dancing with mischief.

"Wouldn’t dream of it," Aaron replied, "but I don’t see the big guy at a loss for words very often so I’m kind of savouring it."

"You’re wicked," she accused and decided she could get to like this man very much.

 

*************

While Sam came under the ministrations of Elrond who had not been forced to treat the effects of a Morgul blade since he had performed the duty on Frodo Baggins, his twin sons presented to Gandalf the Silmaril. All of Valinor was abound by the news of the jewel’s return and those who had borne it to the safety of their shores were shown all the gratitude that could be offered by the elves. Gandalf took possession of the jewel and returned it to Varda, the mate of his lord Manwe. The queen of the heavens was more than delighted to have returned to her one of her lost children and she soon set it into the sky and called it the dawn star. It would be the star whose glow was clearest before morning’s break, a symbol to all for the coming of the new day.

"Its beautiful," Jason remarked as he sat on the grass outside Bryan’s home with the rest of his friends who had risen early today to see the first appearance of the Silmaril in its proper place in the dawn sky. He wondered what Petra Tebben would have thought of all this and felt saddened that the archaeologist and those who had paid with their lives for the unearthing of the Silmaril would never know the beauty they had helped inspire.

"I can’t believe I used it to kill somebody only a week ago," Frank marvelled in similar awe as he stared at the glittering jewel in the predawn sky.

"These Valar certainly know how to make an impression," Eric declared. "I mean this place and all everything that’s in it could be the story of my career except I can report any of it. I tell you there is no God," he sighed.

"Well technically there is a God," Tory reminded him. "Except he is nothing like what we imagined him to be. He still exists but it seems our perception of him has been a little distorted."

"Sure," he gave her a wry look, "try and make me feel better in a place with no beer."

"Oh Christ," Jason said rolling his eyes, "bloody Australians and your beer."

"Well I gave Frank a list," Bryan complained as he took of the sip of elven wine and winced because it was a poor substitute for the Yorkshire bitter he was craving.

"Sod off," Frank retorted promptly. "If you had told me about the Nazgul maybe I would have had some in reserve, just so I could take it with me when I suddenly forced to hijack a plane and flee the country."

"Are you still on about that?" Bryan groaned, "You know I don’t remember you being such a bloody whinger."

"You’ve been away awhile," Miranda joked and received a look of mock hurt from her husband. "But it’s a good thing he hit you because I would have broken something."

"You couldn’t do that," Bryan slid him arm around her, "you love me. All my women do."

"I’m only here for the sex," Tory returned. "The rest you can keep," she smiled at Bryan sweetly.

"Thanks," he laughed at the woman he loved. "Aaron will probably drop by today." He added on a more serious note. "I think Elrond wants him to check on Sam to see how he’s doing."

"He hasn’t woken up," Miranda said reminded of how uncomfortable that made her. "I wish he would. I won’t feel that he’s getting better until he does."

"He’ll be fine," Frank looked at her reassuringly, "Elrond said this would happen. Sam’s fought hard to keep the poison from taking him over. His body is still recovering from the exhaustion. Besides the wound seems to be healing and he is nowhere as bad as he was when we first arrived."

"True," Miranda had to concede that point. "He’s been through so much, I still can’t help but worry."

"So have you decided to stay?" Eric asked Frank in an effort to change the subject and keep Miranda from dwelling too much on Sam’s condition.

"For awhile yes," Frank answered. "There’s a great deal here to learn, so much about these people that I’d like to understand. Besides I’m not all that eager to go home with the Nazgul most likely still hunting us."

"They’re probably still seething from what you lot did to them," Bryan added. In truth, he was infinitely pleased that Frank and his family had chosen to remain in Valinor. Until Bryan had seen Frank again, he had forgotten how much he missed his brother and was pleased that for the first time in too long, he would be able to see Frank on a regular basis.

"And you two?" Miranda looked at Eric and Jason.

"Well even if I went home and decided to tell the world about Valinor, I’m certain I’d be locked up in a padded room, that is if the Nazgul don’t get either of us. So I guess I’ll stay for a while. I always wanted to write and this place is worth a couple of books at least. If I can’t report this as fact, I can at least write it as fiction. If I ever go home, it will be ripper of a read. I could be the next David Eddings."

"And I’d better stay to keep him out of trouble," Jason added.

"Bullshit," Eric returned, "you’ve seen the women and here, they finally find you _interesting_."

"And you haven’t Batchelor No.2?" Jason returned.

Tory let out a sigh and looked at Miranda, "this used to be such a nice neighbourhood."

**************

Sam felt as if he had been walking down a long dark tunnel towards a flicker of light in the distance that seemed for a time, as if he would never reach it. The journey towards it had been exhausting and there were moments when he was almost ready to give up but he pushed himself onward nonetheless, convinced that the light was a passageway to the world he knew. He no longer felt the enemy chasing him and the danger they had represented inside this place had diminished to nothingness since he began the journey through this tunnel.

After what seemed forever, Sam had finally reached it and when he felt its warmth filling his senses, he saw the tunnel had evaporated and around him were walls, walls that formed a room. He looked that the windows with sunlight pouring through the parted curtains, drifting forward by a light breeze. He saw rooms that were painted in a light hue and wooden floorboards. There was something about the room that did not seem real, as if it had been created in a dream and had somehow been given shape. He sat up in his bed, an enormous thing with bedposts that were carved with ornate designs. He looked outside the open window and could see mountains. They were like mountains he would see in a picture book, magnificent and awesome.

"Hello," he heard her voice from his left.

Sam turned slightly and found himself looking at a young girl a little older than Pip. She stared at him with luminous blue eyes that seemed terribly familiar.

"Hello," he said back.

"I’m Fred," she smiled coming closer to the edge of the bed. "I knew you would wake up."

"You did?" He looked at her with bewilderment, unable to shake this insistent feeling that he knew her from somewhere. "Where am I?" He asked instead and once that questioned escaped him, a litany of others followed. "Where are my mum and dad? Where’s Pip?"

"They’re here," Fred replied in a calm voice, sensing his anxiety at not knowing how he had come to be here. "Would you like me to get them?"

"Yes," Sam answered, filled with the overwhelming need to see his family. It felt so long since he had last seen them and he remembered nothing about how he had come be in this bed. However, the more he looked at her, the more he felt compelled to ask another question. "Do I know you?"

"I’m not sure," she answered truthfully. "I feel like I know you but I can’t remember how. I know you are the other ringbearer."

"Ringbearer?" He looked at her.

"Yes," she nodded, dark hair bouncing off her shoulders as she did so. "The bad ring, the one that talks. You carried it too. I don’t remember anything else about it though."

"They were chasing us," he met her gaze and suddenly, a distant memory of running through the darkness, of scrambling through sharp rocks and evil looking woods filled his thoughts. Sam felt his heart beating so fast as he remembered the sound of pounding hooves against dirt, chasing him relentless. He remembered all this and the memory of someone who was at his side, someone who shared the black oblivion of those terrible dreams with him. As Sam looked at her, he suddenly knew without being able to explain it that she was that other he could never remember until now.

"Black Riders," she said.

His eyes widened as he asked her softly, "are we safe now?"

Fred looked over her shoulder at the open door and waited a moment before she answered him.

"No," she met his gaze with one of profound sadness, "we’re not."


End file.
